


Home

by harrys_lou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, Childhood Friends, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Football Player Harry, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, M/M, Physical Abuse, Preacher's Kid Louis, Religion, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrys_lou/pseuds/harrys_lou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Louis's senior year of high school, the last year he has to spend in his godforsaken hometown, the last year he has to deal with his godawful step-father.  But, what Louis doesn't expect during his last few months in Hemingway, Alabama is to stumble onto something that will make him want to stay in the place that he has longed to leave his entire life. As it turns out, that's exactly what happens. And throughout his whirlwind senior year, Louis learns about himself, about his family, about his faith, and, most importantly, Louis learns that home isn't necessarily the place you live. For some, home isn't a place. It's a person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Religion (Christianity, specifically) is a major area of conflict in this story and if you are sensitive to talk which questions or condemns religion, I recommend that you proceed with caution. Additionally, I acknowledge that this is a complete and total work of fiction. With that in mind, the conflict in this story results in Louis's family being portrayed in a negative light. I do not think this portrayal is in any way suggestive of Louis's family in real life. Therefore, the names of Louis's mother and step-father have been changed to reflect this discordance and to sever any possible connection to real life counterparts. Louis's mother and step-father in this story are not based off Louis's real-life mother or step-father in any way, shape, or form. 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy the story! My tumblr is thelarryaesthetic if you want to stop by and say hi! :)

**August 2015**

Louis hates Sundays. Hates them with a fiery passion that burns deep in his gut, that weighs heavy on his soul - a weight of smoldering hot coals. 

For Louis, Sundays mean: hard wooden pews that make his back ache; starched white shirts that make his skin crawl; “hush, don’t talk” and “sit up straight”; “you don’t like them talking, then quit giving them something to talk about.”

Basically… God doesn’t love you unless you’re cut from the same cloth as the rest of us.

They hadn’t always sucked, though. That was the thing. Louis used to love Sundays. Before his mother had married John and become the preacher’s wife, Sundays meant: pancakes and bacon and the whole nine yards; late service and sitting with the Styles’; using the pew as a table for coloring; achy knees pressed against the hardwood floor. 

Basically… God loves you, so long as you ask Him to forgive you when you’re mean to your little sisters. 

Louis misses how it used to be, before John. Misses feeling as though he belongs, as though he will be loved no matter what. 

But, the fact of the matter is, Louis has survived thus far. At this point, the end is in sight. Louis’s final year of high school will soon be done and over with. Soon, he can escape from this godforsaken town and start living, living for himself. Once he’s gone, he plans to keep his promise to never look back. 

“Now, if we could bow our heads and pray.”

The voice John uses for preaching is so different from the voice he uses to speak to Louis. 

Louis’s nerves are tightly strung, ready to spring.

While everyone tucks their chins to their chests and closes their eyes, Louis looks up at the ceiling. 

✝

With a name like Hemingway, you might believe that the town is cultured and literary, educated and accepting. You would be wrong.

In reality, Hemingway, Alabama is backwards and upside-down. A place of whispers behind backs and judgement served with a side of homegrown hospitality. A classic small-town, Southern American community. It is so cliche, it hurts. In a town that thrives off high school football and attending church and breathing down one another’s necks, Louis doesn’t belong.

It is late into August, one of the hottest summers that Louis can remember. Or, at least it seems that way. Not even the air conditioning can permeate the thick humidity that hangs in the air. It is later that day, that same Sunday - the day before the beginning of the end. Tomorrow is the first day of school, the first day of Louis’s senior year, and he is spending his last few hours of relative freedom with his best friend, Gemma Styles. He is sprawled out on her bed, she on the floor. It is simply too hot to do anything else. 

“What are you thinking about?” Gemma asks, voice barely carrying over the roar of the whirring ceiling fan.

Gemma is the type of girl that all the boys want to kiss. Only because she doesn’t care that they want to kiss her. 

They had grown up together, Louis and Gemma. And Gemma had always been pretty, with large green eyes and soft brown hair. But, Louis doesn’t care much either way. It’s just a thing. He sees and treats Gemma the same way that he sees and treats his four younger sisters. 

“How glad I am that all this is finally almost over,” Louis responds to Gemma’s question. He lazily trails his eyes along the old-fashioned popcorn pattern that coats the ceiling of Gemma’s childhood bedroom. 

Growing up, Louis had spent just as many hours of his life in Gemma’s bedroom as he had in his own - if not more. So, the light yellow walls that haven’t been repainted since Gemma was eleven feel so familiar, comforting. He’s probably going to miss Gemma’s house even more than his own once he finally gets out of here. Or, maybe not probably. Definitely. 

“Sheesh,” Gemma jokes. “At least pretend like you’re going to miss me!”

Louis sits up so he can look down at her where she sits on the floor, the fan blowing her hair around her face. “What are you talking about? You know you’re coming with me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You-”

An awkward clearing of the throat interrupts her thought. Standing tall in the doorway is Gemma’s younger brother, Harry. It’s the first time Louis has seen him for, what seems like, the entire summer. Harry just stands there for a moment, looking bashful and infinitely sorry, even though it’s clear he hasn’t interrupted anything terribly important.

Now that he’s thinking about it, it’s actually the first time in a long time that Harry wasn’t an integral part of his summer. Louis thinks that might be particularly unfortunate seeing Harry now. Gemma’s little brother seems to have grown from a gangly-limbed, clumsy kid into someone who matches his oversized hands in the course of a single summer. 

“What do you want, little brother?” Gemma asks, fondly teasing Harry.

Louis jumps - actually jumps - when Gemma speaks. Cheeks flushed, Louis feels as though his thoughts have been played out for the room to hear. 

“I, uh, I made a batch of cookies and I just wanted to let you guys know in case you wanted any.” Harry says, running a nervous hand up the back of his neck. 

Louis knows that it’s a nervous gesture because he knows Harry, has grown up knowing him his entire life. But, why he’s nervous now, in this moment, Louis doesn’t know.

Louis also doesn’t know that he’s staring until Harry shyly returns his gaze. Louis quickly drops his eyes. 

“Thanks, we’ll definitely take you up on that.” Gemma says, oblivious to Louis’s sudden inner turmoil. She stands up and offers him her hand. 

Louis takes a deep breath and slots his fingers between Gemma’s, letting her lead him out to the kitchen. He tries his best to pretend that he’s not disappointed when Harry continues down the hall, to his bedroom, instead of following them into the kitchen.

The cookies are warm, still on the baking sheet. 

They’re peanut-butter chocolate chip.

Harry knows those are Louis’s favorites. 

They grew up together. It doesn’t mean anything. But, Louis still has to force himself to swallow the lump in his throat. 

✝

Louis’s hope that his senior year would fly by has, thus far, been highly unfounded. The past five days have felt more like five years. It probably didn’t help that Louis had been dreading the impending Friday all week. Fridays were awful because Friday’s meant suffering through three hours of high school football. 

(The slow week thing was also probably not helped by the fact that Louis couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Harry and the way he had finally grown into his oversized body. And, yeah, that’s beside the point.)

Back to football, if there is one redeeming quality about the Hemingway High School team, it’s that they’re actually pretty good. The town would be infinitely more sad if they were in love with a football team who sucked ass. Yet, as it was, the Hemingway Hurricanes were looking at being in the running for the state championship title. 

Entering the football stadium on a Friday night is like stepping into a whole new world. There are people everywhere, moving in every direction. The official school fight song pounds from the speakers stationed at intervals around the stadium. The bass assaults Louis’s ear drums, synchs with his heartbeat. The stands are a undulating sea of green and gold, spectators already stomping and rattling the metal bleachers, condemning the opposing team to a humiliating loss. It’s maddening and Louis mostly hates it.

“I’m so glad I’m spending my Friday night here, at this fine establishment, watching a bunch of knob-headed teenage boys run after a ball.” Louis says, biting sarcasm not lost on anyone with a brain. 

“Liam is one of those knob-heads.” Zayn Malik - probably Louis’s closest male friend - points out matter-of-factly. 

“My point exactly.” Louis quips, earning him a chuckle from the usually stoic Zayn. 

Liam Payne is another one of Louis’s good friends, a linebacker on the football team. Even though Louis hates football, thinks it’s boring and stupid, he’s nothing if not loyal. Therefore, he suffers through the experience every Friday night to cheer on and support his friend. But, still, loyalty doesn’t equate to an exemption from ruthless teasing. 

“Just watch the cheerleaders, man. That’s what I do.” True to his word, Zayn is staring at Perrie Edwards who notices immediately and offers him an excited wave. 

It’s cute and Louis hates the way his gut churns with jealousy.

By this point, they had made it through the crowds of people milling about the concession stand, climbed the stands, and staked out a spot to sit and watch the game. Louis kind of hopes that the metal of the bleachers will offer some relief from the sticky heat. It’s a vain hope. Sweat still rolls in rivulets down his back. 

The fight song is then cut off and replaced by the thunderous voice of the announcer who is more than likely the dad of one of the players. “And now, for our starting line-up!”

Louis looks down at his lap, fiddling with an annoying hangnail that’s been bothering him since the morning. He isn’t even paying attention to the string of familiar names and weights and numbers that filter across the field from the speakers, until Zayn elbows him in the ribs. Liam’s name had just been called. Louis jerks up, claps appropriately, a bit embarrassed at having zoned out so much as to miss his best friend’s name being called. 

But, then: “And finally, we have the newest member of Hemingway’s starting line-up. Weighing in at 158 pounds is sophomore quarterback, Harry Styles!”

_Wait, what?_

Eyebrows knit together in confusion. Louis is confused. 

_Gemma’s little brother plays football? Gemma’s little brother plays football well enough to be starting quarterback as a sophomore?_

Louis’s mind races to connect the awkward little boy who can’t seem to go two minutes without tripping over his own two feet with the boy who is the starting quarterback of the high school football team. It just doesn’t add up. Then again, Harry had taken Louis quite by surprise the other day at Gemma’s house…

“Hey! What did I miss?” Gemma asks, voice bright and brown paper bag of popcorn in hand as she settles into the open section of bleacher beside Louis.

“You missed them announcing your little brother.” Louis tells her. “When was someone planning to inform me that our little Harry is the new star of the football team?”

Gemma just smirks. “He told me not to tell you.”

_And, okay. What the heck is that supposed to mean?_

Zayn takes in Louis’s knitted brows and snorts. It doesn’t help Louis’s confusion.

So, Louis pouts and steals a handful of popcorn from Gemma, ignoring his friends and instead deciding to focus on the game. 

And, for the entirety of the game, Louis truly is invested. He can’t help himself. He’s so absorbed that he doesn’t even bristle, or even really acknowledge, Zayn when he teases Louis for it. 

And, Harry? Well, needless to say, he’s good. Great, even. It’s weird to watch, almost disconcerting. Louis is wholly impressed that he manages to avoid tripping as he runs the ball down the field. The actions don’t match up, don’t make sense, with that of the Harry Louis knows. 

But, then again, maybe Harry isn’t that awkward little boy anymore. Maybe Harry had grown up.

Why is he only noticing now?

Whatever the reason, Louis doesn’t exactly want to continue thinking about how a grown-up Harry Styles makes him feel. 

✝

Going to the diner is what they always do on Friday nights after football games. Sliding across the red vinyl seat to his usual spot next to Zayn is comforting in a way Louis can’t explain. It’s familiar and this booth in the back corner of the diner holds a lot of fond memories. Even though Louis despises the sameness and the perpetual routine of this sleepy Southern town, the inherent respect for traditions must have been ingrained into his being somewhere along the way. He can’t even bring himself to hate it. 

“So, Gems,” Louis begins, attempting to sound offhand and casual. “I guess we’ve figured out where Harry’s been all summer.”

Perrie snorts into her menu. Louis looks at her crossly. 

“Missed having Gemma’s little brother around then, Lou?” Perrie is just teasing and Louis knows that she doesn’t mean anything by it, can’t know of his incriminating thoughts, but he still has to will his cheeks not to burn. 

“It’s a bit hard not to notice when the world’s clumsiest human being isn’t around, constantly tripping over his own two feet.” Louis retorts. The knot of tension that had been steadily tightening in the pit of his stomach effectively unravels in tandem with his friends’ easy laughter. 

_Disaster averted. One for Tomlinson._

As usual, Liam shows up only a few minutes later. The bell above the door chimes as he walks into the packed restaurant, queuing a chorus of: “Hey, Liam!” and “Great game, man!” The voices ring through the room, bounce off the windows. Liam is everyone’s friend, everyone knows him. It’s less to do with his position on the football team and more to do with the fact that he’s just a genuinely nice person. That’s why Louis likes him so much.

Except, Louis begins to second guess his affinity to Liam when he notices who’s trailing him through the mass of Hemingway students. 

The decidedly now-grown-up Harry Styles follows Liam, follows Liam straight to Louis’s usual table. Louis is thrown for a loop. _How is this going to work?_ It’s just because, at this point, Louis is so used to his routine - had come to expect and revel in the predictability of it all. That’s why this situation is putting him a bit off kilter. It’s the disruption of the tradition, not the fact that Harry’s hair is still wet and extra curly from the showers, poking out the sides of a soft beanie. It has nothing to do with that in the slightest. 

Also with Liam and Harry is Niall Horan, Harry’s longtime best friend. Louis had known Niall for nearly as long as he had known Harry, both having always congregated at the Styles’ house. At least with Niall there’s an extra person. At least they have an odd number. 

_Or, maybe that’s not a good thing._

Louis’s going crazy. 

When they finally make it through the swarms of high schoolers, Liam plops down next to Gemma and throws a casual arm over her shoulder. (Louis is starting to realize that is is anything but casual.) He then gestures to the single open spot, inviting Harry and Niall to make themselves at home. 

Thankfully, they both don’t attempt to squeeze in beside Louis. Instead, Harry slides into the booth next to him while Niall pulls up an empty chair from the next table over, sitting on it backwards with his arms propped on the back, at the head of the table. Niall grins at everyone like there has never been anything bad in the world. That’s just Niall’s way. 

“Hey, guys!” Niall says.

Everyone responds brightly.

“I picked up a few strays on my way here, hope no one minds.” Liam says.

Gemma smiles fondly at her younger brother as he blushes at Liam’s joke. Louis tries to pretend that he isn’t doing the same. 

“Well, it looks like Hemingway’s got themselves a new star quarterback.” Louis says, ducking his head and bumping shoulders with Harry.

_It’s just a friendly thing. Shut up._

Harry preens at the compliment while simultaneously looking incredibly bashful. Louis wasn’t even aware such a feat was possible. “New quarterback? Yes. Star? Not so much.”

“Shut up, you know you had at least a little bit to do with the fact that you guys absolutely destroyed Fairpoint.”

“No, really, it’s not…”

One pair of blue eyes and one pair of green eyes break apart to look at Liam as he clears his throat and interrupts their conversation. Louis is grateful, in a way, for Liam’s distraction. It grounds him, brings him back to Earth. He hadn’t even realized how close he had been moving in towards Harry only two seconds before. 

“What about me?” Liam asks, widening his brown eyes and all too closely resembling a giant puppy.

All his scathing, sarcastic remarks aside, Louis can never find it in himself to be blatantly rude to Liam - even jokingly so. It would have been akin to kicking a dog. “You know you did great too, Li.” Louis huffs, trying and failing to look indignant.

While Liam is basking in Louis’s compliment, the waitress comes over to take their orders. Everyone rattles off what they want. Then, it’s Louis’s turn.

“How’s your daddy doin’?” The waitress asks before Louis can even give her his order. 

“Um, my step-dad is fine, I guess. I’ll have fries and a vanilla milkshake. Thanks.” Louis folds up his menu and hands it to her, purposefully trying to be short, hoping that she would finally get the picture. She never does. 

The waitress, like everyone else in the town, attends the church. Every single Friday, the same waitress asks the same question. The name tag pinned onto the lapel of her vintage-looking server dress claims her name is “BETH” - all caps. But, that’s the most Louis knows about her. And the fact that she graduated from their high school a few years back. (Still here. How sad.) She seems to know plenty about him, though.

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Tell him I said hello.” She smiles at him, all teeth and gums. Louis wants to die.

“Will do,” Louis mumbles, casting his eyes down.

The waitress nods, satisfied, and continues to take Harry’s and Niall’s orders. Once she had retreated back to the kitchen, Harry asks: “Are you alright?”

“He’s fine,” Zayn answers for him, leaning over Louis so that he can address Harry. “He’s just being dramatic, gets moody whenever anyone asks about John. Yet to learn how to keep it to himself.”

“Please stop talking about me like I’m not here, thanks.” Louis barks.

“Oh, shove it. You know it’s true.” Zayn says, patronizingly patting Louis’s cheek.

Louis ducks out from under Zayn’s hand, _sortofmaybekinda_ accidentally bumping into Harry as he does so. “Leave me be. I reserve the right to be as moody as I like. Especially when it involves people referring to John as my father.”

“Lou, she was just being nice.” Zayn protests.

“Yeah, well.”

“Are you actively trying to be a cliché?”

“No, I just…”

“Louis, you haven’t always hated him so much. What happened?” Niall asks, interjecting into their conversation.

This is when Louis starts to panic.

And, oddly enough, when he notices Harry tense up beside him. 

“Well… I uh…” Louis doesn’t quite know what to say, doesn’t know quite how to deal with being directly questioned about his step-father. He is frozen, plummeting.

Luckily, Gemma comes to his rescue. “He grew up,” she says, simply.

Niall raises an eyebrow in question. 

And then, Harry speaks. “Yeah, he grew up and realized that most of John’s ideals are pretty much shit and he doesn’t agree with him.” 

Usually, Louis hates it when other people speak for him. Louis has enough words to say by himself, thank you very much. But, right now, in a rare moment when Louis was rendered speechless, Harry had taken his tangled, inner mess of emotions and simplified them down into a logical and acceptable explanation. Right now, it’s honestly wonderful to be spoken for. It’s wonderful and Louis is actually grateful.

“That makes sense,” Niall says, nodding his head.

Harry’s eyes shift from Niall to Louis, green orbs gauging him, waiting for even the slightest action or reaction from him. 

“I don’t agree with most of what he says either.” 

Niall is still talking, but Louis is only watching Harry. He offers Harry a smile, letting him know that he’s not mad. Looking slightly relieved, Harry returns Louis’s smile with one of his own, full wattage, blinding, like looking straight into the sun.

The image is seared into the backs of his eyelids. For the rest of the night, every time Louis closes his eyes, he can see Harry’s smile. 

✝

The church sits at the head of the town, up on a hill, overseeing everyone. You can see the white steeple peaking up over the tree-line from anywhere in the town.

It watches Louis, silently judging him as he drives through the nearly deserted streets, a bit faster than usual. Louis’s driving faster than usual because he’s late getting home.

Or rather, back to John’s house. Even after living there for almost eight years, Louis can’t bring himself to think of that house as his home. 

It’s out on Plantation Road, where all the rich people live. Old, converted plantation homes that have been in the same families for centuries. Old money. Long drive-ways, tree tunnels leading to white columned houses with wrap-around front porches. Dripping in grandeur. But, they only live out here because one of the homes belongs to the church. 

Louis can’t say, though, that John’s house isn’t beautiful. With its wooden crown moldings, painted the color of eggshells. Built-in bookcases and heavy old furniture. Pictures and paintings in gilded gold frames. Its multitudes of small, cozy rooms. Louis’s bedroom even has a fireplace. 

The house is straight from _Gone with the Wind_. Definitely nicer than his old home, the one he used to live in across the street from Gemma and Harry. But, even if it is nicer, Louis still can’t think of it as home. He can’t think of it as home because dust coats the furniture in the family room. And John’s presence lingers in every room, hangs in the air, heavy with oppression and anger and disapproval.

And because it isn’t home, Louis sticks his key in the lock and tries sososo hard to turn the knob as quietly as possible. And because it isn’t home, Louis slips inside quietly, heart pounding at the prospect of getting caught breaking curfew. 

But, as it turns out, no amount of stealth in the world could help him tonight. His step-father is there, standing with his arms crossed and fire in his eyes in the middle of the foyer. As soon as Louis shuts the door, John is on him. Gripping his forearm. Fingers vised. Clamped tight enough to bruise. 

“Where have you been?” John asks, tone void of any discernible emotion, past the point of angry.

“I-I, uh, was at the diner… with Gemma and Zayn.” Honesty is the best policy at this point. If John finds out later that Louis had lied to him, things would be so much worse. 

“Louis Tomlinson, you know this behavior is unacceptable.” John’s cold, beady eyes bore into him. 

“I-I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I lost track of time. I…” Louis hates himself. Hates how his voice stutters. Hates that he’s such a wimp. Hates that he can’t do anything but stand here and take whatever John dishes out.

_Just a few more months of dealing with this. Just a few more months and then you’re gone._

“You’re sure as hell right, it won’t happen again.” Louis knows John can feel him shaking under his grasp, under his stare, under his threat. He tightens his grip on Louis because of it, completely cutting off circulation. “Because you don’t want to know what happens if you do allow this to happen again.”

John finally releases him. He gives Louis one final, withering glare, before turning and leaving the room. 

Louis looks down to see nasty red marks already blooming, harsh and mean, across the skin of his wrist. 

✝

_**May 2014** _

_Was it dangerous to lay underneath a wobbly ceiling fan? Was there a real possibility that the force of the whirring blades would pull the off-kilter contraption completely out of its fixture and send it off on a havoc wreaking journey across the bedroom?_

_After giving it a bit of thought, Harry decided that it was definitely probable._

_Harry also determined that the safest course of action would be to turn the fan down to a lower setting. But, then that would likely just mean death by heat stroke instead of by rogue ceiling fan. Neither option sounded particularly appealing. Eventually, Harry concluded that dying by ceiling fan was preferable because it meant he wouldn’t have to move._

_Either way, it seemed certain that they were going to die. Probably some time in the next hour. Harry didn’t really care. It was too hot to feel too strongly about much of anything._

_“Do you think we’re going to die soon?” Harry asked his best friend, Niall._

_The blond-haired boy was sprawled out on his back, in a similar position to Harry, except that Niall was on the floor while Harry was on the bed. They were both staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing the rivers of white paint from the popcorn treatment on the ceiling. It was boring and hot._

_“What? You mean, like, right now?” Niall asked, brows knitting together over his closed eyes._

_“Yeah, like, from the heat. Or, a rogue ceiling fan.” Harry answered._

_“What are you on about, man?”_

_“Nothing. It’s just so hot.”_

_“Well, we do live in Alabama.”_

_“Yeah, but it’s still May.”_

_Niall just chuckled. It was his ‘stop being so dramatic, Styles’ chuckle. Niall used to say the phrase out loud all the time, until he was saying it so often that it got repetitive. So, now, he would just chuckle. It meant the same thing. Harry got it._

_But, getting it made Harry wonder when his life had become so predictable. It was a Tuesday in mid-May and nearing the end of Harry’s lat year of middle school. Every single Tuesday, they spent the afternoon at Harry’s house doing homework, playing video games, hanging out with Louis and Gemma, or lying in Harry’s bedroom and doing absolutely nothing. The later being the case on this particular Tuesday. It was boring. Harry hoped that it would get better in high school, that he would be going to parties on the weekends and sports practices on the weekdays and that everyone would know him as Harry and not as ‘Gemma’s little brother.’_

_Harry sighed, inhaling the scent of summer that wafted in through the open window. It smelt nice, like a promise. Like a promise of better things to come. He spent the next few minutes trying to decide if that promise was negated by the stifling heat that settled over him, heavy as a woolen blanket. He felt he was on the brink of a major breakthrough when Niall spoke and shattered his concentration._

_“If you’re so convinced that we’re going to die soon, maybe you should give Louis a call and tell him you’re in love with him. Like, final confessions and shit.” He said._

_“Here’s a final confession: I legitimately hate you.” Harry groaned and flopped over, burying his face in his pillow._

_“Just trying to help you out.” Niall answered, smugness dripping from his words like sticky sweet syrup. “I mean, really, what could it hurt?”_

_“I could make myself look like an idiot and then he’d never want to talk to me again. Even just as Gemma’s little brother. Besides, I don’t have his phone number.” Harry said._

_“Oh, that’s a fucking lie, Styles.” Niall jumped up. “Seriously? You thought you could get away with that one?”_

_“For God’s sake, Niall. Leave me alone!”_

_“Harry!” Niall held his hand over his heart as he uttered Harry’s name in a high pitched, strongly southern accent - sounding suspiciously like his mother. “You’re never going to get the attention of the preacher’s boy if you keep taking God’s name in vain like that!”_

_Harry laughed despite himself, but quickly tried to school his features into something resembling fury. The attempt probably had less than believable results. Oh well._

_“Let’s do it! Where’s your phone?”_

_“Niall! No, no, no, no!”_

_“Oh, c’mon. You’re always droning on about how predictable your life is. Well, here’s your opportunity. And who knows, his answer might surprise you.”_

_At that moment, Niall spotted Harry’s phone on the corner of his desk and lunged for it. Harry jumped up after him as quick as he could, but, somehow, managed to get his legs tangled in the blankets and fell to the floor. Niall cackled at Harry’s distress as he found Louis’s contact in Harry’s phone and pressed ‘call.’ Harry frantically tugged himself out of his blankets and lunged for Niall’s ankles. But, the boy danced out of his grasp._

_The phone rang and rang and Harry hoped and prayed that Louis wouldn’t pick up. That he would soon hear the ring of the dial-tone._

_“Harry?”_

_Harry felt his heart drop to his toes._

_“Hello?”_

Fuck.

_Harry lunged for Niall again, this time managing to tackle him to the floor._

Victory.

_Harry grappled for the phone, finally wrenching it out of Niall’s grasp. The boy was useless at this point, having taken to cackling hysterically instead of trying to keep the phone away from Harry._

_“Harry? Are you alright? What was that?”_

_“Louis?” Harry asked, fingers fumbling as he brought the phone up to his ear. “Hi, um, that was just Niall falling. Sorry, didn’t mean to call you. Butt-dial.”_

_“Oh, okay.”_

_“Yeah, okay. Bye, then.”_

_“B-”_

_Harry got nervous and hung up before Louis could finish saying whatever it was he had been saying, presumably goodbye. Embarrassment trickled down his spine and rippled under his skin._ Butt-dial? What had he been thinking? What was wrong with him?

_“I literally fucking hate you.” Harry growled at Niall._

_“Heard that one already today.” Niall said before continuing his uncontrollable laughter._

_Harry just huffed in annoyance._

_Well, Harry had wished for a break in the monotony. But, this hadn’t exactly been what he’d had in mind. Far from it, actually. Monotony definitely would have been better than this disaster._

_Or, would it have been?_

_Harry didn’t really know._

_It was too hot for thinking very hard about anything._


	2. Chapter 2

**August 2015**

Sometimes - or a lot of the time - Louis wishes that it isn’t always just one and done. It’s almost worse that everything goes back to normal in the morning. No grounding, no sequestering to the house, nothing. It’s as if it didn’t even happen. As if Louis hadn’t even gotten into trouble. 

There’s a party tonight, somewhere over in Gemma’s neighborhood. Because he isn’t grounded, Louis doesn’t have a viable excuse to not go, even though he sort of wishes he did have an excuse. He sometimes gets into this weird kind of headspace after arguing with his stepfather and doesn’t really feel like being around a bunch of people. But really, anywhere’s better than this place, this sorry excuse for a home. So, he’ll go even though he can’t even bring himself to enjoy the damn things anymore, can’t even bring himself to touch the alcohol anymore. 

Louis sighs audibly, frustrated. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis’s oldest younger sister, Lottie, asks, turning from her television program to glance at him. 

“I don’t really want to go out tonight, but I don’t really want to stay here either.” Louis tells her. 

“Sheesh, thanks.” Lottie answers, pretending to take Louis’s statement as a personal attack against her. 

“Shut it, Lots. You know what I mean.”

“Not really. Why don’t you want to go?”

Louis contemplates it, not sure how to word his thoughts because they haven’t even taken on a definitive form in his own mind. Lottie looks at him expectantly. Her dyed blond hair is twisted up into two tight buns on the top of her head. Louis likes when she wears her hair like that. Half because he thinks it looks cool and half because he knows John hates it when she does. 

“Is it because Gemma’s got that thing with Liam now?” Lottie asks before Louis can respond.

Louis bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth. “I mean, not really. Like, I’m happy for them. Sure it’s less attention for me, but, like…”

“So it, like, doesn’t bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“How Gems ended up with Liam and not with you.”

Louis snorts and rolls his eyes. _What a ridiculous question._

But, then again, it isn’t like Lottie knows. It isn’t like Louis can just tell her. 

“Nah. I mean, I love Gemma, but I’ve never been attracted to her like that.” Louis says.

“Why not?” Lottie counters.

And Louis is thrown for a loop. “Lottie!” He exclaims because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Sorry, Lou. I guess I just assumed with how close you two are that it might have turned into something more.”

It makes sense, her rationale. Louis can’t deny that. But, it is off the mark. Quite a bit off the mark.

“What about Harry?” Lottie asks.

That’s when Louis’s heart stops and his blood runs cold. “What about Harry?” He snaps, voice coming out even sharper than he intended. 

_Get a grip, Lou. Jesus._

Lottie gives him a wary look, but decides to ignore Louis’s strange reaction. Thankfully. “I was just going to ask how he felt about Gemma and Liam.”

And, thank god. 

“Oh, um, I think he’s fine with it. Liam’s a great guy.” Louis tells her. 

Lottie hums her assent and then turns her attention back to the television, apparently finished with the conversation. 

Louis is still slightly flustered from his scare over Lottie’s question about Harry. Also, he definitely doesn’t feel any better about going to the party. 

But, he goes anyway. Because that’s what everyone expects him to do. 

✝

Louis vaguely worries about the purple ring, obvious finger marks, circling his wrist like a morbid bracelet. He had been covering it with a watch all day and his own sister hadn’t noticed, so he figures that under the concealment of the dimmed lights and through the haze of inebriation, no one at the party will notice either. 

The house is in town, only a few streets over from Gemma’s. The party is already going, bass pumping, lights down, swarms of people, when Louis arrives. It’s grossly hot outside, so it’s even grossly hotter inside. House full of body heat and teenage hormones. Louis’s grey t-shirt is stuck to his back with sweat by the time he descends the stairs into the basement. _Why exactly did I think wearing a grey t-shirt was a good idea?_

Louis scans the crowd of people, looking for his friends. He knows they’re here. Got here maybe an hour ago according to their text messages. But, he doesn’t see them. He sees the drinks before he sees his friends. Someone, probably the mom who let her kid throw a rager, had gone all out and made jello shots. Little plastic cups filled with the vibrant blue, green, red, gelatinous substance. Louis doesn’t touch them. 

That’s when Louis feels a warm hand on his back. He turns around to find Harry standing there behind him. 

“Hey, Harry.” He says, smiling up at him. “Know where your sister is by any chance?”

“Hey, Lou. Yeah,” Harry answers, pointing towards the other side of the room, the other side of the makeshift dance floor. “She’s over there. Zayn, too.”

“Awesome, thanks.” Louis says, turning away and beginning to walk in the direction Harry indicated. 

Before he can get far, Harry grabs his wrist, precariously close to his bracelet of bruises. Louis winces automatically, he can’t help it. He tries to play it off as he turns back towards Harry, but Louis sees a weird look flit across Harry’s features. It doesn’t stop him from barreling forward, anyway. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, that’s ok. Thanks, Harry.” Louis says, smiling at him before turning to leave again.

“Lou, wait.” Harry says, voice loud to be heard over the pounding music. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks. 

But, Harry isn’t even looking at him. Instead, his eyes are cast down and he’s running a hand up the back of his neck. “You look nice tonight.”

Louis lets out a laugh. “Thanks, Harry. But, you’re drunk and I’m a sweaty mess.”

Harry shakes his head and mumbles under his breath. He may have said something along the lines of: “No, I’m not the one who needs to hide behind alcohol to express my emotions.” But, it really could have been anything, the music was so loud in there, and Louis chooses to ignore it regardless. 

Harry was right, Louis fords the sea of dancers and finds his friends on the other side of the room. Gemma’s back up against the wall, Liam pressed against her. They’re half giggling, half talking, half making out, and wholly drunk. Louis averts his eyes. Zayn and Perrie are in a similarly compromising situation on the couch in the corner. Louis rolls his eyes to the ceiling. _Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of the year? Everyone paired off and me left out? Well, fucking cheers._

Louis doesn’t even say anything, just leaves. He doesn’t want to be here. And, as it turns out, no one really needs him here after all. 

It wasn’t all that long ago that Louis could be counted on to always be the life of the party. He half misses his lost ability to lose himself in the music, numb himself with the alcohol, ride on the high of the party. But, everything just feels flat and muffled anymore. Louis, for some reason, can’t bring himself to be the person he was only a few months ago, the Louis that everyone knew and loved. A few months ago, that Louis would have rolled his eyes at his friends and then gone to find someone else to dance and laugh and drink with. Tonight, all Louis wants to do is leave. 

Pushing again through the crowd of sweaty bodies, a few people call out to him, but he doesn’t stop. Then, someone sloshes beer on his favorite pair of Vans. _Jesus, fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me._

But, Louis bites his tongue by some miraculous feat and manages to extract himself from the writhing crowd, finally. As he’s going up the stairs, just about to make his escape, Harry catches him again. This time, his hand burns and sizzles on the bare skin of Louis’s upper arm. Slick, slick, slick with sweat. (Though, it isn’t a highly unpleasant feeling.)

“Where are you going, Lou?” Harry asks. If it’s even possible, Harry seems a bit more buzzed than when Louis spoke to him ten minutes ago. But, Harry’s cute when he’s drunk. He turns into something akin to a giant, clumsy kitten. It’s adorable. 

_Harry isn’t adorable, Tommo. Shut up._

“I think I’m gonna head out. Party kinda sucks.” Louis tells him. 

“Oh, okay.” Harry says, something like disappointment flickering in his green eyes. “You sure I can’t get you something to drink?” He looks up, hopeful.

It’s tempting, but Louis can’t except that. Not here. Not anywhere. Not ever. 

“Well, I think my shoes have had plenty to drink. They’re pretty shit-faced.” They both look down at Louis’s ruined shoes. A moment of silence. “And, as for me, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

Harry looks at him like he knows something Louis doesn’t. It’s disconcerting. 

“See you later, H.” Louis says.

With that, he turns and starts climbing the stairs, beer-drenched shoes squeaking with every step. “Bye, Lou.” He hears from the bottom of the stairs. Louis keeps going, out through the front of the house, out through the front door. Out onto the lawn, fresh air filling his lungs. It’s nice to breath air that isn’t stale, that isn’t being shared and recycled by a hundred other people. 

Louis has to walk a bit to his truck. The whole school seems to be at this party and Louis had gotten there late. He’d had to circle around a bit before he’d even been able to find a parking spot. 

For a while after shutting himself in his trunk and convincing the engine to rev to life, Louis just sits there. The windows rolled down, letting in the slightly cooler night air. The radio is a whisper in the background, leftover from the drive here. Louis doesn’t really feel like listening to anything in particular right now. 

He has no where to go. He shouldn’t have even come in the first place. This or his house, though. It isn’t even a choice, really. 

So, he decides to just drive. 

He backs out of the space along the sidewalk and navigates his way out of the labyrinthine neighborhood. It’s filled with houses that all look the same. That all look identical. It’s filled with streets that culminate in dead ends. Streets that lead no where.

One could really get lost (could really lose themselves) in a place like this. 

✝

 

He ends up down by the creek. It’s not a surprise. He usually ends up there when he has nowhere else to go. 

There’s an old picnic table in the clearing beside the swimming hole, about a quarter of a mile down from where he parked his truck out on the side of the road. Louis lays there, back against the rough, wooden top, eyes on the stars. That’s one good thing about living in the middle of nowhere, the stars are always clear and bright, visible. 

This exact spot was where Louis had first started to come in middle school when he began his rebellious streak. With his cigarettes he had talked the convenience store clerk into selling him “for his mother,” Louis would come down here and smoke. It took a while before he could make it through the whole pack in one sitting. That wouldn’t come until high school. But, he got there. Eventually. 

More than anything, he had hated the fact that he knew he wasn’t ever going to get caught. They didn’t care that much. Louis still kind of hates that fact.

Even though he had quit smoking around the same time that he had quit drinking, he still likes to come here to think. It’s peaceful. A nice place to just be.

It’s a nice place to pretend he isn’t the pastor’s son. A nice place to pretend that he isn’t living in a small, homophobic, Southern town. To pretend he isn’t completely defined by the list of things that everyone in this town knows him by. (Played soccer until thirteen. Dated Hannah Walker back in the tenth grade. Rebellious and a partier, but somehow still at the top of his class.)

Here, he also can dream about his escape to college without crippling under the guilt of leaving his little sisters here to grow up in a state of constant brainwashing. Here, he can pretend that setting himself up for success will be enough, pretend that it’s better to save the girls eventually than never at all. 

Here, he can also allow his mind to wander to other things. To things that are typically off limits. Tonight, there’s only one such thing on his mind: Harry. Harry, the boy who Louis has known for his entire life. The boy he has grown up with. The boy he has been friends with for sixteen years. The boy he has spent nearly as much time with as his own little sisters. The boy that, Louis, as of lately, can’t stop think about about for very un-little-sibling like reasons. It’s disconcerting and Louis isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do about it, if anything. 

Then again, it’s not like this is a new problem. If he’s being honest with himself, that is. He’s been pretending to forget the things that happened between them, the things that suggested just how attracted he is to Harry, for years. Now, it just seems as though Louis’s feelings are not so easily pushed away, smothered, trampled. And, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and it isn’t really fair because Louis is leaving soon, going to college, and he and Harry wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. Not here. Not anywhere, probably. 

Louis sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

Glancing at his watch, Louis knows he has to leave soon. Still, he lays there until the last minute, savoring the freedom and the loneliness and the quiet. But, he gets up with the knowledge that he can’t afford another night of breaking curfew. He just can’t.

✝

_**April 2015** _

_It was two in the morning and Harry was tired. So tired, that he felt quite out of it. But, he couldn’t fall asleep like Gemma had on the couch. He refused. He had to stay awake. Stay conscious. He very rarely got time with Louis, especially time alone. That was what growing up meant, though. Or so he assumed. Growing up meant growing apart._

_Harry didn’t want to grow up._

_Because Harry was so tired, he might as well have been drunk. He hardly knew what he was saying when he spoke anymore. His thoughts had started just playing themselves aloud, unbidden. They leapt from his mouth and dove into the world, blossoming along their respective sound waves._

_It bothered Harry that Louis drank. He was drunk right now. Like, actually drunk. Not like Harry who was only tipsy with exhaustion._

_Harry wished Louis wouldn’t drink._

_“Why do you drink, Lou?” Harry asked, not really expecting an answer because he hadn’t really expected to say anything in the first place. They were laying side by side on the carpeted floor of his basement and Harry turned his head to the side to see if his question had pulled a reaction from Louis._

_It hadn’t. Louis’s face was blank, still staring up at the ceiling. Harry turned his head back in order to do the same._

_“If you drink and smoke just to spite your parents,” Harry continued. “Doesn’t that mean they won? They affected you, got under your skin. You’re just doing what they expect you to do.”_

_Still no response from Louis. He had closed his eyes, but Harry knew he hadn’t fallen asleep._

_“Also, it’s not that I care personally that you drink and smoke,” Harry lied for argument’s sake. “It’s just that I know it’s not really you, not really who you are. If you’re doing it to make a statement against someone else, but you actually hate doing it, what’s the point? You’re still not doing things for yourself; you’re doing things for them. Does that make sense?”_

_“I like drinking.” Louis said._

_Harry knew he was lying._

_“Why?” He asked._

_“I don’t have to feel anything.” Louis answered._

_Harry didn’t say anything, just turned his head. Louis was already looking at him, cheek against the carpet._

_“Do something for yourself, Lou.” Harry whispered, because whispering felt like just what this moment needed._

_Louis began to move, but Harry stayed where he was, just following Louis’s movements with his eyes. Louis sat up, scooted over. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Louis lined his right knee up with Harry’s hip and swung his other leg over to the other side, straddling him. Harry just watched. Watched Louis’s expression, ran his eyes down his body. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare risk breaking the spell._

_Louis stopped for a moment, took a deep breath. Hands placed on Harry’s chest burned through the fabric of his thin t-shirt. On fire._

_Louis leaned forward, hovering over Harry. Harry was too aware of how shallow his breathing had become. Of how quickly his heart was beating out a rhythm in his chest._

_Still moving slowly, painfully slowly, Louis eliminated the remaining space between them. Capturing Harry’s lips with his own._

_It was so intense, so intimate and loving and quiet. Here in this dark space, trapped in their own moment in time. Gemma’s sleepy breathing and the sound of the wind beating in the windows, asking for entrance was their background soundtrack. It was just them._

_It didn’t last that long, and Harry wasn’t sure if he could have handled much more, anyway. It was a lot._

_“You’re really drunk.” Harry had said once Louis pulled away, had sat back on his heels._

_“Not so bad.” Louis said._

_“Yeah,” Harry said._

_Louis rolled off of him. Back onto the floor. Back against the carpet, hands folded over his stomach, eyes closed._

_“It makes too much sense.” Louis whispered._

_Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to hear that. He didn’t answer._

_The next morning, Louis hadn’t remembered anything. But, Harry could still feel Louis’s lips on his own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Tumblr: thelarryaesthetic


	3. Chapter 3

**September 2015**

It’s Sunday and Louis is not hungover. Even after about four months of being completely sober, Louis can’t decide if Sunday services are more or less painful without a hangover. He’s going back and forth in his mind when a text message appears on the screen of his cell phone. 

**Gemma** : didn’t see u at the party last night. what gives, man??

**Louis** : i was there, u just didn’t see me bc u were too busy sucking li’s face off

**Gemma** : whatever, i don’t believe you

**Louis** : i’m not lying, ask H

**Gemma** : but why didn’t you at least say hi??

**Louis** : like i said, you were too busy sucking li’s face off

**Gemma** : oh shove it

**Louis** : love u tooooo :)

“Louis,” his mother whispers harshly, drawing his attention away from his phone and his conversation with Gemma. “Put that away. The service is about to start.”

Louis has to try really hard to stop himself from rolling his eyes. But, he does as his mother says and tucks his phone away into the pocket of his dress pants, making sure to turn the sound off before he does so. He tugs at the collar of his shirt and fiddles with his cuffs now that he doesn’t have anything to do with his hands. 

It’s kind of weird how he can be in this place, surrounded by his family and his friends and everyone else in the entire town, and still feel completely alone. 

John drones on at the pulpit. Louis can feel judging eyes boring into the back of his head. Everyone stands up and sits down as instructed, singing hymns, reading prayers that someone else wrote. That don’t mean anything. (Louis has always thought that when the congregation all prays together, they sound a bit like brain-dead zombies, repeating what their controller has dictated.) ((And maybe that comparison is more astute than anyone would like to admit.))

Louis is a little bit out of it and not really paying attention - like usual. But, then: SLAM.

John’s hands smack down on the wooden surface of the pulpit in front of him. The noise makes a few people jump, Louis can see them from the periphery of his vision. It makes Louis’s little sister, Daisy, jump as well. Louis just burns. But not as hot, never as hot, as how he burns after hearing John’s sermon. 

“As many of you know, there has been some sad, sad news this week - some very upsetting news. As if it wasn’t bad enough that, back in June, this once great country finally decided to, once and for all, turn it’s back on God and permit the homosexuals to marry, there have now been cases in our very own state, cases in which churches, just like our own, have been condemned for refusing to allow homosexual unions on their grounds.”

Louis can’t believe it, can’t believe that John is so horrible, so goddamn horrible, as to say these things in front of the entire town. But, then again, Louis can believe it. 

It had been in the news this week. A church only a few counties over had gotten into trouble with the law when someone reported them for refusing to host a same-sex couple’s marriage. It was one, isolated incident and no one even ended up pressing charges. 

_But, of course John hadn’t missed that. Of course he would take it and twist it and use it to serve his own purposes._

Louis thinks he might be sick. 

“If the government thinks for a second that we’re just going to ignore the Bible and stand by while this injustice is carried out, they’ve got another thing coming to them.

“I want to make one thing clear, God most certainly will not stand for this obvious defilement of his Holy text. God has declared: one man, one woman. That is how things have always been. That is how things should always be. We follow God, we listen to God. People these days think they can just pick and choose which of God’s words they want to follow and which they want to ignore. And then, they think they can still call themselves Christian. This is not how Christianity works. I’m telling you now, God won’t stand for it. This church won’t stand for it. But, if the rest of America wants to burn in hell, then let them.”

John’s face is red. Louis can see a blood vessel, protruding from his temple. Those directly around Louis are mesmerized, eyes glued to John. He can’t tell whether they can’t look away because it is like witnessing a train wreck, or whether they are actually moved by his words. 

Louis knows it’s more likely the latter and a wave of despair washes over him because of it. He is sitting on his hands and he can feel them losing feeling, but it’s grounding, preventing him from doing something rash. Doing something rash would give himself away. He can’t give himself away. Not after this. Not ever. But, especially not after this. 

“I’m calling you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, to stand together, to stand up for what we believe in, to stand up for God and his true wishes for his beloved children. Let me say that it is no coincidence that the nasty epidemic of AIDs began in the gay community. That was God’s way of punishing the homosexuals. It was God’s way of letting us know that he will not stand for homosexual practices. So, we shouldn’t either.”

That’s when John makes direct eye contact with Louis, hammering every word directly at Louis, into Louis, nail by bloody nail. Fear plucks at his heart strings and he feels any pent up energy drain out of his body. Now, he is spent and tired. Nothing left inside. Empty. 

He can already tell that he won’t even have the energy to cry later when he’s finally home alone. 

“In conclusion, I want to emphasize that there will be no weddings of a homosexual nature held in this church. Regardless of what the government says. They can try to tear us down, can try to impose their beliefs on us. But, we have the freedom of religion on our side. And, better yet, we have the power of God on our side. Remember, that is all that truly matters.

“Thank you.”

_John didn’t know. He couldn’t know._

_Right?_

This Sunday had turned out to be fire and brimstone and Louis’s skin is still blistered and burning. 

✝

On Monday, Louis is running late. Very late. He barely has time to get dressed, throw his textbooks in his backpack, and grab a banana before Gemma is honking her horn outside the door. 

Louis’s truck had decided to stop working yesterday afternoon, so it’s in the shop today. Gemma had grudgingly agreed to drive all the way out here and pick him up, so Louis didn’t want to make her wait.

As soon he’s finally made it out the door, bag slung over one shoulder, he realizes that he forgot to put on his watch, forgot to cover the bruises that are now ugly, a weird mix of green and purple, still ringing his wrist. 

He takes a deep breath. No one will notice, anyway. Probably. Hopefully. 

But, of course, Harry notices. 

Harry has always been good at noticing things about people. That’s just how he’s always been. Most of the time, it’s nice - endearing, even. Today, Louis just wishes Harry would leave it alone.

“Hey, Lou!” He says brightly as Louis climbs into the back seat of Gemma’s car. 

“Morning.” Gemma echoes.

“Hi Gems. Hey Harry. No football practice this morning?” Louis asks. The buckle of his seatbelt clicks as he latches it. 

Gemma begins the process of backing down his long driveway.

“Nah,” Harry says, turning around in the passenger seat, turning around to face Louis. “Coach gave us the morning off since we won on Friday.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah it is. I…” Harry trails off, eyes trailing downwards. “Hey, what happened to your arm?”

Only then did Louis realize that he had been clasping his fingers around his wrist, unconsciously, accidentally, drawing attention to the exact thing he wanted to hide.

He sees Gemma’s eyes flash at him from the review mirror. 

Concern floods Harry’s expression. 

It all makes Louis’s stomach lurch. 

“Uh… nothing. Just roughhousing with my sisters and the little ones got a bit too wild.” Louis says. He hopes his voice isn’t shaking. He can’t really tell. Hearing drowned out by the rapid beating of his heart. 

Harry looks skeptical, looks like he doesn’t quite believe Louis even though he wants too. Indecision flashes across his features. 

The ultimate decision: Harry’s going to let it slide. “So long as I don’t have to beat anyone up for you.”

Even though Harry says it in a half joking, half threatening manner - Louis can’t help it, he snorts. And then he’s full on laughing and nothing has ever felt better. 

Harry just grins at him dopily. 

“No, Harold. You do not have to come to my rescue. No knight in shining armor needed here.” Louis says.

“Too bad.” Harry answers, cheekily.

Louis’s cheeks burn.

“Would you two shut it.” Gemma says. “I’m trying to drive.” She emphasizes her point by turning up the radio, pop station blaring Justin Bieber.

“Ah, Gems. My ears!” Harry complains, clapping his big hands over his ears, face screwed up in a grimace. 

Gemma just laughs and turns it up even louder, throwing a hand out the window, a picture of nonchalance. 

His step-father may be able to leave his mark on him, but Louis has these amazing people in his life and that’s something that John will never be able to take from him. 

✝

School drags on. The second week of senior year is, thus far, not any faster than the first. The hallways are crowded with the faces of people he has known his entire life. The faces of people he hates. The faces of people whom he can’t wait to not see ever again.

After school, Louis and Gemma hang out like usual. Except, today, she wants to talk about something that Louis doesn’t really want to talk about. He can feel it hanging in the air, as thick as the Alabama humidity in the most suffocating months of the summer. It hangs there, and eats away at him, but he refuses to acknowledge it. 

Nothing has happened in a while. Nothing that’s been noticeable, at least. _Why did Harry have to notice it?_

They’re in the basement today, trying to avoid the still crushing heat of September. The fans are going, the air conditioner working on overdrive. It’s too hot to sit on the couch, so Louis is lying on the floor, looking up at the TV that’s playing Dr. Phil. He isn’t really watching the program, but also doesn’t really want to start doing anything else. Especially not his homework. Especially not talking to Gemma.

Things are going well for a while. But then, Gemma can’t hold it in any longer.

“Lou, what happened this time?” She asks. 

Louis sighs, sits up. “I just got home past curfew on Friday. He wasn’t happy about it.”

“I thought it might have been getting better.” Gemma whispers to her lap, picking at the ragged edges of her notebook paper, ripped from the spirals. 

Louis chuckles. Cynical. It never gets better. Louis just gets better at avoiding it. At preventing blow-ups.

He was bound to slip up sometimes.

“Are you going to do anything?” Gemma asks.

“What can I do?” Louis counters. “I’m getting good grades, trying to get into a college that’s far, far away. I think that’s the best thing I’ve got.”

Gemma lets out a breath, frustrated. Her fingers rake through her hair, pulling at the strands. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand it. Especially after that sermon on Sunday” 

Louis just stays silent. 

_You can’t stand it?_ He thinks, cynical.

“I just wish I could do something, knock some sense into him.” Gemma says. “He needs a good beating himself.”

“Yeah, and who’s going to do that? Not me. I’m too much of a coward to even stand up for myself with words.” Louis tells her. “At least he’s not hitting the girls. Or my mom. At least it’s me.”

Gemma just looks at him with sad eyes. “Why you think you’re deserving of it, I’ll never understand.”

“Gemma, I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Louis says.

“Lou-” Gemma begins.

But, Louis cuts her off. “I’m not okay. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m falling apart. Well, fuck you! I’m doing fine.”

“I’m so sorry, Lou.” Gemma whispers, eyes cast back down.

Louis feels bad for snapping at her, feels terrible. But, he doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t know what to say to make it better. Doesn’t know how to say that she’s probably actually right and he doesn’t know how to deal with that.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to dwell on it for too much longer as Harry comes down the stairs at that moment, hair wet from the shower and a bounce in his step. Presumably, just home from football practice. He pauses when he gets to the bottom, sock feet stopping on the carpeted floor, taking in the weird tension in the room and the strange looks on both of their faces. 

“Hey, guys.” He says cautiously, but not without his usual brightness. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Louis says quickly. “Just homework.”

Harry snorts. “Looks like it.” Harry says, inclining his head towards the television.

“I’m doing a study on the craziness levels of the people who come to see Dr. Phil.” Louis tells him.

“Ah, I see.” Harry answers.

“Seriously though, Lou. Can you stop drooling over Dr. Phil and come help me with this lab report?” Gemma whines.

“Fine,” Louis relents, getting up and plopping himself on the couch. Harry drops down onto the floor beside him, back against the couch and arm precariously close to Louis’s leg. _When did Harry’s biceps get so big?_

After about twenty minutes of helping Gemma, Louis is done, exhausted, spent. “I think that’s enough homework for one night, Gems.” Louis lets his body fall limp back into the couch cushions, blowing a piece of loose hair off of his forehead.

“But, Louis. We’re not even halfway done!” Gemma protests.

“Just give me a few minutes,” Louis pleads.

Gemma just rolls her eyes. Louis closes his. 

Until, Harry shifts. Then, Louis’s eyes fly open. Harry’s arm is most certainly pressed up against Louis’s leg. And why is this so weird? Why is Louis so aware of this? Harry probably doesn’t even realize it. It’s a normal thing, doesn’t mean anything. _Why, why, why?_

“Are you coming to the football game on Friday, Lou?” Harry asks, turning around to face him. Arm still very much pressed up against Louis’s leg. 

Act natural. “Um, I don’t know. Are you going to make me?”

_God, Louis. That wasn’t acting natural._

Gemma snorts, but keeps her eyes trained down on the paper in her lap.

“No, of course not.” Harry says. “I was just wonder-”

Gemma lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling. Harry and Louis both stare at her confusedly. “Shut up, Lou. You’re going. I don’t know about H, but I’m making you go. We always go.”

“Fine,” Louis huffs, trying to sound indignant, but only because he’s embarrassed. “I guess I’ll go and sit on the bleachers with you and Zayn, sweaty and bored out of my mind, wishing I was anywhere but there.”

Louis gives Harry a smile, makes sure that he knows that he’s only joking.

“Knew you’d come around.” Gemma says, reaching out to pat Louis’s knee.

But, Louis’s only paying attention to the way Harry ducks his head and repositions his hair in an attempt to hide the blush that blooms across his cheeks, pushing up against Louis’s leg even more.

_Jesus Christ._

✝

**_March 2011_ **

_Harry remembered the wedding. Remembered it like it was yesterday. Harry seemed to have no trouble remembering anything that involved Louis. But, more than that, the memories where Louis was unhappy were particularly striking. Probably because they were the most painful. Before the wedding, Harry remembered how unhappy Louis was, how he wouldn’t stop crying or trying to convince Harry of the villainous nature of his soon-to-be step-father. Harry had believed him, felt for him, hated John just as much as Louis did (for the sole reason that Louis hated him.) But, he still just mostly believed that Louis was being his usual dramatic self._

_John and Louis’s mom got married when Louis was ten and Harry was eight. It wasn’t until Louis was thirteen and Harry was eleven that Harry realized Louis wasn’t just being dramatic on that day three years ago._

_It was March, the middle of the school year. Harry was in the living room, watching Scooby-Doo on the television when there was a hesitant knock on the door. He turned down the television, getting up to answer the door. But, Gemma beat him to it. Slipping down the stairs in a hurry, sock-feet sliding against the hardwood flooring._

_Harry rolled his eyes and plopped back down on the couch. Gemma could get the door if she wanted to so badly._

_He hadn’t turned the sound back up, so the television was still low. Low enough that he could hear Gemma at the door._

_“Hey,” she said softly._

_Harry wondered who it was. Gemma obviously knew the person, had been expecting them. All Harry could hear from the other person was sniffling. The door clicked as Gemma pushed it shut and Harry looked over to see who it was. He saw golden brown hair, floppy and straight. It was Louis and Harry didn't understand why there was such a strong tension floating in the room, why Louis kept sniffling._

_“Louis?” Harry asked._

_He turned to meet Harry’s eyes. Blue orbs blurry with water. He looked terrified. Harry felt like someone had just stabbed him in the chest with a knife._

_“Harry, just stay here.” Gemma told him, the warning clear in her voice._

_“But…” Harry tried to protest._

_“I said, stay here.” His older sister took Louis’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and lead him towards the staircase. “C’mon, Lou.”_

_Harry didn’t understand what was happening, couldn’t. Gemma and Louis never excluded him. and Louis was so so sad. Why was Louis sad?_

_He waited for as long as he could, which was really only a minute or two, before jumping up and following his sister and her best friend up the stairs. His sock-feet quieted his footsteps. He tried not to be a bother, he really did._

_But, he couldn’t ignore the fact that Louis was upset. It plucked at his heartstrings and twisted his insides into knots. He never wanted to see the people he loved hurt. Especially not Louis._

_Gemma’s room was the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. It was mostly closed, only open a crack. Through the sliver, he could see neither Louis nor his sister. But, he could hear that they were both crying and it made tears prick in his own eyes._

What’s going on?

_Harry couldn’t help himself any longer. He pushed the door open just a little bit further, cracked it just a little bit wider, so that he could see his sister and Louis sitting together on the bed. Opened it just enough so that he could see something that he would never be able to forget._

_Gemma was lifting up Louis’s shirt, exposing the smooth planes of his back. The smooth planes of his back that were marred with bruises. Bruises that were black and ugly and fresh, staining Louis’s beautiful, tan skin. Harry felt them as if they were on his own back._

_“Louis? What happened?”_

_The words were out before Harry even remembered he wasn’t supposed to be there. He found that he had already moved into the room, unconsciously. He couldn’t have helped himself. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing._

_Louis gasped when he saw Harry, jerking away from Gemma who let his t-shirt fall back down to cover the damage._

_Gemma turned angry eyes towards Harry. “Get out! This is none of your business!” She screamed. When Harry just stood there, rooted to the spot, feet glued to the carpeting, Gemma pelted him with a pillow. “I said, get out!”_

_“He’s my friend too, Gemma.” Harry had said, turning towards Louis with pleading eyes._

_But, Louis wouldn’t look at him. His eyes were focused down. His finger wrapped and unwrapped a loose thread from Gemma’s comforter around and around his finger. Cutting off circulation. Letting the blood flow. Over and over._

_Harry still couldn’t move._

_“Harry, I’m serious. Get out.” Gemma repeated, her voice so low and menacing that Harry had no choice but to turn around and leave. Tail between his legs. Unable to forget the look that had been in Louis’s eyes when he realized that Harry had seen. When he realized that Harry now knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a quick disclaimer, I want everyone to know that I am in no way attempting to make a statement about Christianity in general. I fully recognize that the majority of Christians are open and accepting people who are in no way accurately represented by my portrayal of Louis's step-father and those in Louis's town who believe similarly. But, the fact of the matter is that these kind of extremists are out there. Those extremists are who I am aiming to portray in this story. I am deeply sorry if I offended anyone because that was in no way my intention. 
> 
> With that out of the way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> tumblr: thelarryaesthetic


	4. Chapter 4

**September 2015**

After that first Friday, Harry makes a habit out of it. Makes a habit out of inserting himself into their tradition. Into Louis’s Friday night tradition. And, if he’s being honest, Louis doesn’t mind one bit. 

Niall usually tags along, trailing along behind Harry, perpetual grin on his face making it so that no one could be annoyed with him ever. But tonight, after the fourth game of the season, he hadn’t shown up. Louis asks Harry why, but Harry just sort of avoids the question. Mutters a half answer. Louis doesn’t press it. Mostly because it’s really not all that concerning to him. 

Instead, he steers the conversation in the direction of one of his favorite topics: teasing Harry relentlessly. “So, tell me again because I still can’t seem to get it through my head. How did the boy who couldn’t take three steps without tripping over his own two feet turn into the star quarterback?”

“I was never THAT clumsy!” Harry protests, eyebrows knitting over his green eyes in indignation.

As a side note, Louis loves Harry’s eyes. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t like looking at them as much as he does because, really, they should remind Louis of Gemma’s eyes. But, Louis is never really thinking of Gemma when he’s thinking of Harry. Harry is all consuming; his presence seeps into Louis’s pores and rewires the synapses of his brain to fire only for him.

And besides, Harry’s eyes have little flecks of gold in them. And a small ring of a lighter green around the pupil. Gemma’s eyes are just a solid jade. Probably. 

“Well, I beg to differ.” Louis finally responds, trying to pretend that he isn’t more than a few beats late in responding. Trying to pretend that he hasn’t been caught up in thinking about how Harry’s eyes catch the light and…

“Maybe I was just extra clumsy around you.”

Harry’s words are so quiet that Louis almost misses them. Harry had ducked his head, whispered them into Louis’s shoulder. He’s frozen, unsure how to respond - isn’t even sure whether or not he’s supposed to respond. This is uncharted territory and Louis is suddenly lost at sea.

Quickly mulling over appropriate responses in his mind, Louis glances up to look at his friends. As soon as he does, he wishes he hadn’t. Perrie and Zayn are holding hands across the table, heads bent together, whispering. The way they’re looking at each other makes Louis’s stomach churn (but only out of jealousy). Worse than Perrie and Zayn are Gemma and Liam. Directly across from Louis, they’re engaged in an honest-to-God make-out session. Now Louis really wants to puke. And not from jealousy. He genuinely feels ill. 

“Looks like we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Louis says with the intention for his stupid friends to hear over their saliva exchanging activities. 

The only response he receives is a little wave, just a slight wiggle of her fingers in his general direction from Gemma. She doesn’t even have the decency to detach herself from Liam to give her best friend a proper goodbye. Louis looks up at the ceiling.

Louis then turns to Harry. He appears to be equally as horrified as Louis is at the sight of his older sister exchanging spit with his teammate. Louis can’t blame him. 

“What are you waiting for? Budge up.” Louis jerks his head towards the door. The combination of words and actions hopefully getting through to Harry in his state of shock.

“You’re not going to leave me here, are you?” Harry’s eyes are comically wide, filled with real concern. Louis almost laughs at the sight. 

“No, you twat. You’re coming with me.”

“I am?”

“Of course.”

✝

“Where do you want to go?” Louis asks, the first to break the slightly awkward silence that had sat between them ever since they had both climbed into his truck and pulled out onto the main road.

“You can just take me home if you want. It won’t hurt my feelings or anything. It’s probably a drag always having to hang out with your best friend’s little brother.”

Louis’s eyebrows knit at the self-depreciation in Harry’s tone. It concerns Louis that maybe he had done or said something that made Harry think he didn’t like hanging out with him. 

“Harry, you and I are friends and have been for years. What are you talking about?” Harry’s looking down as Louis speaks, fingers threaded together in his lap. “And if nothing else, it sure beats hanging out at home.”

Louis looks over at him and Harry gives him a small nod, like he understands. 

“I don’t really know what to do then. There’s not much in this town, is there?” Harry says finally.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Louis agrees quietly. 

They drive in silence for awhile. It’s not really awkward anymore. Just companionable. Louis isn’t headed anywhere in particular. Just driving. The windows are down and the air blows through his hair, throws around Harry’s curls as well. The night wind is cooler than it has been, almost like a promise of a break in the seemingly never-ending heat. 

As Louis passes a tractor on the two-lane road leading outside of the main part of town, Harry takes a breath. Louis glances at him. Then, Harry blurts out: “Louis, you know I’m gay, right?”

Frankly, Louis is dumbfounded. And certainly speechless. He can’t even bring himself to nod because…

“I mean, I’m sure you do. But, like, I’ve never told you before. Like officially. And you don’t have to do anything with the information or, like, treat me differently or whatever. Or, God, I sure hope you don’t treat me differently, like, in a bad way. Not that I think you will. But, yeah. I just wanted to tell you that.” 

Once Harry’s finished, he lets out a huge breath. With all the rambling and words running together, Louis isn’t surprised that Harry’s out of breath. 

Even though he can feel Harry’s eyes burning holes into the side of his face, Louis keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. The road blurring by, being eaten by his tires, disappearing underneath him. 

Louis kind of wishes he could disappear.

_Why is Harry telling me this? Why, why, why?_

But, if Louis lets all his self-doubt and insecurity fade away, lets the little voice in the back of his head talk, he knows that Harry knows. That Harry is telling him this because he knows that Louis also is not straight. And, if Louis is really and truly honest with himself about this whole situation, he knows that him and Harry have been dancing around each other for years. 

The little voice in the back of Louis’s head though, only gets so much attention. Louis has been diligently building his walls for months. For years. For almost his entire life. Chipping away at the mortar and unstacking each brick is a lot of work. It doesn’t just happen after one realization. 

Harry only told him this because he doesn’t want Louis to feel alone. Because Harry is Louis’s friend and he’s a good person. There’s nothing more to it. 

Louis takes his time rehearsing his line in his head before he says it: “Thank you for confiding in me, Harry. It really means a lot to know that you trust me so much. And, I promise that I won’t tell anyone.” 

Louis dares a glance over at Harry and wishes he hadn’t because he can clearly see the look of hurt that flashes in Harry’s eyes. Louis wonders if he said something wrong, but his heart knows that Harry was hoping that Louis would return the favor. 

He wishes he could. He wishes he had the courage. 

Harry turns, trains his gaze out the open passenger-side window. There isn’t much to see besides swampy trees and inky blackness. Louis figures he may not really be taking in his surroundings, anyway. 

They continue down the road, radio on in the background, the still-summery night air blowing cool through the open windows. 

“Is this the radio station you always listen to?” Harry asks suddenly, scaring Louis enough that he jumps. 

“Yeah, why?” Louis counters, glancing to Harry, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s just not very diverse. I think I’m going to have to help you expand your horizons.”

“Oh, you are then?” Louis asks, amused despite himself. Both by the statement and the way that the words sound in Harry’s mouth. 

Louis has spent his entire life fighting his inherent Southern draw, his ignorant accent - refused to succumb to its evils. Harry, on the other hand, seems to embrace the dialect with his whole being. His voice is low and deep and as slow as molasses, words sticky and sweet. On Harry the accent doesn’t sound unintelligent, uneducated. On Harry, it’s endearing. Louis had never thought it was possible. But, then again, there are a lot of things involving Harry that Louis had never thought possible. 

“Mhm,” Harry murmurs as an assent. 

“Great, I can’t wait to hear what kind of weird shit you listen to.”

“It’s not weird shit.” Harry protests. And even though he’s trying to act annoyed, his dopey smile kind of negates the whole thing. It’s cute. 

_No, no, no. Not cute. Harry’s not cute. You’re not allowed to think that. Stop, stop, stop._

By that point, they had arrived at Harry’s house. Louis pulls into the driveway, going easy over the familiar dip in the pavement, and turns off the ignition. 

A few beats of silence. 

“Do you want to come inside? I could make us grilled cheeses or something.”

Louis wants to come inside. 

✝

As soon as they walk through the door, Harry goes to his room. He comes back dressed in sweatpants and an old, worn-in t-shirt. He looks soft and warm and Louis is most definitely not thinking about it. 

While Harry cooks, Louis sits on the island counter, granite cool enough that he can feel it through his jeans, and pretends to play on his phone. Somehow, against his own accord, he ends up watching Harry instead. The radio softly plays music in the background, music Louis doesn’t recognize. 

Louis is absolutely not thinking about how he can see Harry’s back muscles shift and flex under the thin material of his shirt when Harry turns around and catches Louis staring at him. Louis curses himself under his breath, eyes quickly flicking back to his phone. The screen has already fallen dark. Louis grits his teeth.

But, then, every single thought flies out of Louis’s mind. 

Because, that’s when Harry decides to come over to Louis and stand between his legs, placing a hand on each knee. His hand is so big, splayed fingers reaching up to his lower thighs. A knowing smirk ghosts across Harry’s lips as Louis drags his eyes away from Harry’s ridiculous hands up to meet his eyes. Louis is a wreck.

“Do you want tomato on your sandwich, Lou?” Harry asks.

“Um… I…” _Get a grip, Louis. Jesus Christ._

“Just kidding. You always want tomato.” Harry’s lips curve up into a full smile and then he’s gone. 

The air in Louis’s lungs had hardened like poured concrete during that conversation. His chest had forgotten how to rise and fall. He can’t breathe and he very well knows that he’s every cliche in the book. 

“Wait, how did you know I like tomato on my grilled cheese?” Louis manages to ask. Eventually.

Harry lets out a small laugh at Louis’s question. He doesn’t even turn around to look at him, now focused on flipping the sandwiches. “We grew up together, Lou. In case you forgot.”

Louis blushes at his own ridiculousness. He’s being crazy. He needs to relax. 

That conversation in the car had thrown him. It was something he never would have expected in a thousand years. Louis isn’t completely in denial. He knows he has feelings for Harry. Now, whether or not those feelings are reciprocated is a question he wouldn’t even allow himself to consider before. Before Harry came out to him. And Louis isn’t stupid. The denial and self-doubt are a lot to fight through, but he knows where this is going. And he can’t let it. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Louis takes a deep breath, exhaling the worst of his mental turmoil, and filing the rest away for later. After that, Louis does relax. They sit at the bar stools in the kitchen and eat their sandwiches together. It’s easy and simple and it feels nice to just act normal around Harry after these past few weeks. He is just _Harry_ , after all. The same Harry who was there when Louis lost his first tooth and cried because he hadn’t known his teeth were _supposed_ to fall out. The same Harry who was there to hug him, along with Gemma, when Louis had gotten in trouble at home for the very first time. The same Harry who had been there through all of Louis’s embarrassing stages and bad hair cuts and weird obsessions. Harry, Harry, Harry. Just, Harry.

They had long since finished eating. Their plates sit empty on the counter in front of them, crumbs sprinkled over top.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Harry asks, jumping down from his stool and moving to clear their plates. “I can pop some popcorn.” 

“Sure, sounds good.” Louis says.

As Harry pulls a bowl down from the cabinet and throws a bag of popcorn in the microwave, Louis pads down to the basement. He sets up camp on the familiar couch, pulling a blanket over his lap and pulling up Netflix on the television. 

When Harry arrives, he doesn’t seem to think twice about sitting down right beside Louis and slipping under his blanket. Louis raises his eyebrow at him, questioningly. He tries to play it cool, to not think about how their bodies are touching at various points from shoulder to ankle. 

“What?” Harry asks in response to Louis’s unvoiced question. “If I sit on the other side of the couch, you won’t be able to reach the popcorn. Plus, I’m cold.”

And, that settles the matter in Harry’s mind. He wiggles himself down into the cushions, getting comfortable, and gabs a handful of popcorn, eyes trained on the screen. Louis casts his eyes down before Harry can look back over and catch his fond smile. 

✝

Louis doesn’t necessarily remember exactly how it goes from the popcorn bowl being in Harry’s lap, to his head being in Harry’s lap. But, he isn’t really in the mood to question it too much. He’s tired and warm and comfortable and Harry is so so cuddly. 

_This is something two friends can do, right?_

With one hand, Harry is running his fingers through Louis’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Louis positively wants to purr. He can’t remember a time when he has ever felt so relaxed, so pliant, so… happy.

_This is something two friends can do, right?_

✝

Louis is asleep when Gemma gets home.

A warm hand brushes against Louis’s cheek. An even warmer voice whispers, breath hot fanning across his face: “Lou. Hey, Lou.”

Still sleep hazy and most certainly not ready to wake up from the beautiful dream he’s currently having, Louis rolls over a bit, hiding his face in the soft fabric of Harry’s sweatpants.

“Louis,” comes a different voice. A different voice that is decidedly not so warm and soft. “Stop cuddling with my poor little brother and go home before your step-dad kills you.”

That seems to do the trick. Louis is up and heading towards the door in seconds. He quickly pulls on his shoes, gives Gemma a quick kiss on the cheek as he passes. He takes his phone out of his pocket to check the time, to gauge the amount of trouble he’s going to be in when he gets home.

As he’s going up the steps, two at a time, he hears Harry call behind him. “Bye, Lou. I had a good time tonight.”

“Bye, H. Thanks for the grilled cheese.” He answers. 

Two steps from the top, Louis hears Gemma ask Harry: “What the fuck is going on?”

Louis asks himself that same question as he shuts the basement door behind him. 

✝

_**November 2014** _

_It was a Saturday. The night before, the varsity football team had won their state qualifying game. Tonight, they were celebrating. Harry was one of the only freshmen in attendance._

_Harry was one of the best players on the junior varsity team. So, he sometimes got to dress out and stand on the sidelines of the varsity games. Last night, Harry had been there, jersey on and helmet off because the likelihood of him actually playing was slim to none. That was how he had managed to snag an invite to this mostly upperclassmen party. When he first heard the boys talking about the party, Harry had been excited. But, he was even more excited when the guys told him to come. It was his first high school party. Where it all started. Finally, Harry’s dream for a real, movie-esque high school experience was coming true: sports and parties and drinking and_

_Louis was there because Louis went to every party in town. He looked gorgeous, as always. Simple red t-shirt and blue jeans made him look soft and lovely. Harry desperately wished he could run his fingers through Louis’s golden brown hair, make it stand up, messy and wonderful._

_Louis was there with his girlfriend, Hannah. Hannah with the stupid blonde hair and the stupid brown eyes. Stupid Hannah who held everything Harry wanted in her hands. The hands that were allowed to run through Louis’s hair (and probably do other things, too)._

_The party wasn’t really all that great anyway. Harry didn’t exactly know what to do with himself. He didn’t really know anyone all that well and the beer tasted so terrible that he couldn’t even pretend to drink the stuff. And watching Louis be drunk and giggly with someone else really wasn’t in Harry’s repertoire of fun activities, either._

_Now, Hannah and Louis were dancing. As Hannah shimmied her way down Louis’s body, hands trailing his sides, Louis wasn’t really paying attention. He was talking over her shoulder to one of the varsity linebackers._

_“Hey,” Hannah stopped dancing. “Why won’t you pay attention to me?”_

_She was mad._

_Louis stopped moving, too. Well, he was swaying slightly, but that was just from the alcohol. Or, Harry assumed, anyway. “Hannah, what are you talking about?”_

_“You always do this at parties. You get so fucking drunk and then you act like I don’t exist.” Her voice increased in volume with each word. By the end, her voice had risen so high that Harry could hear her clearly over the pounding music._

_“Han… I’m sorry… I,” Louis mumbled, his words noticeably slurred._

_“Why do you always have to get so fucking drunk, Louis? Why can’t you just chill out for once?”_

_Most of the people in the immediate area had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene play out between Louis and Hannah._

_Hannah was loud. And Louis looked like he was about to cry._

_Harry was moving forward, towards Louis, before he had even consciously made the decision to do so._

_At the same time, one of Hannah’s friends (Harry vaguely remembered her name was Clare) began to move forward through the crowd. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder, steering Hannah away and towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get you some water or something - cool down.”_

_Then, Louis was storming off before Harry could reach him. Pushing his way, shoving his way, through the crush of bodies in the living room. As quickly as he could, Harry ran after him, jostling his own path through the crowd. A cup of beer sloshed on his shoes and about thirty seconds later, Harry found himself right behind Louis as he exited the house through the front door._

_Louis was stumbling down the driveway when Harry finally caught up to him. He grabbed Louis’s elbow to stabilize him._

_Louis’s head snapped around, eyes meeting Harry’s. The defensiveness subsided once Louis’s mind sluggishly registered Harry’s face as familiar and nonthreatening. “Hey little Styles. What’s up?” His words were slurred, sliding up against each other._

_“Just needed some fresh air.” Harry lied, now trying to steer Louis towards the curb. “C’mon, let’s sit down here. How about it?”_

_Louis nodded and Harry helped him to sit down before he sat down himself, stretching his long legs out in front of him and into the empty street. Out there, it was slightly cooler than inside the house. It was also much, much quieter. The Alabama air still hung heavy and wet, even despite the late hour, but it was still a measurable improvement from the stifling party._

_Neither boy spoke for a while. And it took Harry a bit longer than it should have to realize that Louis was crying._

_“Lou?” Harry asked, trying his best to keep his voice soft. “Are you alright?”_

_“She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand and she’s so mean to me.” Louis sobbed, just shy of incoherent._

_“Lou, what are you talking about?”_

_“She doesn’t get it.”_

_Harry really didn’t have any idea what Louis was talking about, but he figured the issue extended further than just the fight Louis had with Hannah inside the party. Still, Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do to make Louis feel better, to make him stop hurting. What Harry really wanted to do was pull Louis into his chest and hug him until he’d cried out all the hurt. Harry wanted to do everything, anything for Louis._

_But, he knew he couldn’t._

_“It’s not her. It’s not. It’s me. She’s a great girl, she really is. She deserves better. She deserves better than me.”_

_Now, those words sent Harry’s heart racing. Louis’s mutterings were starting to scare him a bit. “Louis,” Harry pleaded. “Please calm down. It’s alright.”_

_Harry physically couldn’t stay still any longer. Rules and boundaries be damned. He reached out, putting his arm around Louis’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest._

_Louis came easily, immediately twisting his fingers into the fabric of Harry’s Rolling Stones t-shirt. “But it’s not alright!” He cried._

_“Lou,” Harry whispered as though it was the answer to all the questions of the universe. His lips brushed Louis’s hair. Soft and lovely._

_“But it’s not because… because maybe I don’t always want to kiss Hannah. Maybe I don’t always want to kiss girls.”_

_Louis was drunk. Louis was not in his right mind. Louis didn’t know what he was saying. He couldn’t be held accountable for his words in such a state._

_Harry knew all these things, knew them for a fact._

_So, why then was his heart pounding a mile a minute?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: thelarryaesthetic


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a day late :(

**September 2015**

There are tons of people around, streaming down the florescent lit hallways, joking with friends on their way to third period. Therefore, there are plenty of people around to witness just how high Louis jumps when he slams his locker door and finds someone hovering over him. Namely, Harry Styles. 

“God, Harold.” Louis says, clapping his hand over his racing heart. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Harry gasps, mimicking Louis’s dramaticism. “Did I hear what I think I just heard?” A fake, emphasized Southern accent tugs at the ends of his words, drags them, makes two syllables into three. “The pastor’s son taking our Lord and Savior’s name in vain?”

Louis rolls his eyes, wanting very much to be offended. But, of course he isn’t. He knows Harry’s joking. Besides, even if he wasn’t, Louis probably wouldn’t be offended anyway. Because it’s Harry and Louis’s dignity is slowly slipping further and further away from him, day after day. 

“Step-son, thank you very much. And shove it, you just scared it out of me.” Louis reaches out and shoves Harry’s shoulder playfully, pushing him backwards.

But, Harry just rocks back on his heels and grabs Louis’s wrist, using the momentum of Louis’s shove to reel their bodies back together. “I’m sorry I scared you, Lou. Didn’t mean to.”

“Uh… it-it’s okay.” Louis says, his heart beating at the contact. Half because it’s Harry and half because he’s scared. The flirty-ness of a moment ago is gone from his demeanor as Louis glances around the hallway to see if the attention of any of their classmates is focused on him, focused on them. Louis hates himself for it, but he can’t seem to help the way he quickly twists his wrist out of Harry’s grasp. 

Most of all, Louis hates the spark of hurt and disappointment he sees in Harry’s eyes.

Harry takes a deep breath and shifts his now empty hands to his back pocket. “Maybe this will make it up to you.” Harry says, eyes saying that he means it about both things. From behind his back, Harry pulls a CD with a beautifully decorated cover. “I promised to help you expand your musical horizons so…”

“You seriously made me a mixtape?” Even though Harry had said that he would, Louis hadn’t really believed him. No one did things like this for him.

“Well, a CD as this is 2015, but yeah, essentially.” Harry says, hand running up the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish as Louis’s excitement. “I hope you don’t mind that I actually did and you like it and don’t think it’s weird and…” 

The warning bell interrupts his rambling. The shrill sound beckons their classmates into classrooms. The hall slowly starts to empty around them. 

“Thanks, Harry.” Louis tells him, trying to inject his earnestness into his words. His silent apology for pulling away. 

“Right, well. I guess I should let you get to class. Uh, thanks for humoring me.” Harry says.

“No, not humoring you. Thank you, Harry.” Louis takes a deep breath, preparing himself for this next bit. Harry deserves something more real after Louis acted like a complete shit only a few moments ago. “No one’s really ever gone out of their way to do something like this for me before. It’s really nice, sweet. Thank you, really.”

The smile that Harry gives him, the look in his eyes, is enough to make the blood flow to Louis’s cheeks. It takes a solid half hour of English class before Louis’s blush cools off. 

✝

“So, what’s going on with you and my little brother, Louis?” Gemma’s voice is carefully casual. She glances at him to gauge his reaction. _Why does she always have to bring up stuff that I don’t really want to talk about?_

Louis’s feet are tucked up under him on the couch. He pulls them in closer. “There’s nothing going on. I mean, you and me cuddle all the time. It’s no different.” 

Gemma takes a deep breath and Louis can tell that she doesn’t believe him, that Louis gave her the answer she was expecting to hear. “I just want you to think everything through before you do anything rash. Harry knows what he wants, but I’m not sure you do. What do you want Louis?”

_Why does she have the ability to see right through me? To read me better than I can read myself?_

Louis doesn’t answer the question, still half wishing that this conversation didn’t have to happen. But, he brought it on himself. And he knows that Gemma is mostly right. If not completely right. 

When Louis doesn’t respond, Gemma continues, answering the question herself. “I thought you wanted to get out, leave this town and never look back. If that’s what you want, I want that for you too. I want you to be able to live your life like you haven’t been able to do here. I know you have a soft spot for my brother, and always have, but, Louis, your situation is a mess. And, I’m only saying all this because I love you both more than anything. But, I just don’t want Harry getting hurt when all the consequences and implications of a relationship with him become too much to handle. Like, just think it through. If you want a relationship with him enough to take the risks and really work through all the challenges, then I’ll be your guys’ first supporter. I swear I will. I can’t even imagine how happy Harry would be. I just… just think about everything - every single possibility and every single thing you’re feeling before you get in too deep with this.” 

Louis is frankly speechless. He manages to squeak out an “ok” to let Gemma know that he heard and understands what she said. It’s a lot to take in though and Louis knows he should listen. He really hadn’t thought much about anything regarding this situation. Had just been ignoring the whole thing during his daily life, and then getting swept up in Harry whenever they were together. It definitely isn’t a good balance. Louis needs to get his shit together. 

But, he’ll do that tomorrow. Or some other time. 

“Alright, well now that I dumped all that on you, I’m going to head out.” Gemma chuckles a bit in an attempt to break through the heaviness of the air, leftover from their conversation. “Love you. And just think about what I said.” She bends down to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Bye, Gems.” Louis says. “Have fun with Liam.”

She throws him a smile and then she’s gone. 

With Gemma sneaking out to meet Liam, Louis is left behind to lay on Gemma’s couch and watch Friends reruns for the rest of the night. Or, at least until he has to go home. 

It is only just nearing eight o’clock when he hears footsteps on the stairs. Louis sighs. Already, on Gemma’s first night of sneaking out, Louis is going to have to cover for her. Running over the cover story in his head, Louis raises his head up off the couch cushion to see who he will be spouting his story to. 

But, instead of Anne or Robin, it’s only Harry.

When Harry sees Louis, he stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, hey.” He says, once he had gotten over his surprise at seeing Louis sprawled out on the couch in his basement. “What are you doing here?”

Louis can feel the cool of the air conditioning on a stripe of skin exposed at the bottom of his torso where his t-shirt had ridden up slightly. He tugs it down subconsciously. “Was hanging out with Gems,” Louis explains. “But, then she ditched me for Liam.”

“Well, that’s kind of shitty of her to just leave you here by yourself.” Harry looks more concerned than Louis feels he needs to be, more than Louis feels the situation warrants.

Louis just shrugs in response. “I could always leave, but instead, I choose to stay and continue mooching off your family’s perpetual hospitality.” 

“Well, can I sit down here with you then?” Harry asks.

Louis gestures widely with his arms, indicating that, as this is Harry’s house, he can do anything he’d like. 

Except maybe what he does. 

Seemingly intent on sending Louis into cardiac arrest, Harry picks Louis’s feet and sits down on the couch. It isn’t like there aren’t plenty of other options. Harry could have sat in one of the reclining chairs, or in the loveseat adjacent to Louis’s couch. But, of course he doesn’t. Of course he settles Louis’s feet in his lap. Louis is fairly sure that he squeaked at some point during the whole process, but he can’t be explicitly certain as his pulse is thundering, loud and demanding, in his ears. 

After a moment and no visible reaction from Harry, Louis decides that he must not have done anything audibly out of the ordinary. Either that, or Harry simply ignores it. 

Right now, Louis needs to calm down. He focuses on evening out his breathing, slowing his erratic heart rate. This isn’t weird. He can’t make this weird. This is a friendly thing. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Once Louis finally feels as though he has gotten a hold of himself, everything comes crashing down again. Harry, with his hand cupped lightly around Louis’s ankle, begins to circle the knob of Louis’s ankle bone with his thumb. Everything else in Louis’s body goes numb as all his nerve activity focuses at the point where Harry’s skin touches his own. Soft soothing circles and a hammering heartbeat are all Louis consists of at that moment in time. 

_What the fuck is going on?_

“This okay?” Harry whispers, his voice so soft that Louis can barely hear it over the noise of the television that he hasn’t given a second thought to since Harry came down into the basement. 

Gemma’s words ring through his head, rattle around in his skull. But, Louis’s heart is in his throat and he can’t find a single part of him that wants Harry to stop, that wants this moment to end. It probably makes Louis selfish, but he can’t seem to order his thought in such a way as to see a logical solution. 

So, he says, “Yeah, yeah. Fine.” His voice sounds choked, strangled, even to his own ears.

“Are you sure? You won’t hurt my feelings.” Harry looks over at Louis with earnest eyes. 

Louis knows that he should take this opportunity to shut this down. To stop letting his heart control him, convince him that he can have something that his brain knows he can not. But, his words wouldn’t work anyway. So, Louis just nods. He has to look away from Harry’s eyes, though. They’re making the knot of confusion in his stomach pull even tighter. 

Luckily, even though Louis is being all kinds of painfully awkward, Harry doesn’t stop.

“Have you gotten a chance to listen to that CD?” Harry asks after a few moments. 

By now, Louis has settled back down a bit, relaxed into Harry’s touch and decided to allow whatever is happening to happen. “Yeah, actually. I listened to it on the way over here after school. My favorite song was the _Portugal_ one.”

“That’s my favorite, too. Walk the Moon is great. Well, I’m glad you liked it.” Harry says, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

They fall silent after that and Louis allows his mind to wander. 

Usually, Louis is the type of person who always has his guard up, always knows what to do or what to say to lighten the mood, ease the tension, or divert the attention away from himself. But, in these situations with Harry, Louis often feels completely lost. A whole lot not like himself. Or rather, a whole lot too much like himself. It is mostly scary, partially terrifying. The thing is, Harry seems to have the power to crack Louis’s carefully constructed walls with just a look or a particular glint in his eyes. And it isn’t like Louis doesn’t want to let Harry in. For Louis, the feeling of letting go of his front is disconcerting and strangely addicting with Harry. Releasing the careful control feels just as freeing, just as wonderful, as it is terrifying.

Soon enough, Louis finds himself letting go of the final shreds of his dignity. He finally allows himself to sink completely into Harry’s touch, drown in it, let it pull him under, consume him.

And with that, Louis falls asleep, truly asleep, like he hasn’t been able to do in a very long time. 

✝

“Jesus Christ,” comes a voice, filtering into Louis’s unconscious thoughts. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Louis’s eyes fly open. It takes a second for him to register where he is. But, once he realizes that he’s staring at Harry’s chest and that they’re laying, cuddled under a blanket, bodies aligned, his cheeks grow furiously red. 

He sits up quickly. Gemma was the one who had spoken. If she was already home, then Louis most certainly should be home. _Oh, God._

Leaping off the couch and grabbing his sweatshirt off the floor, Louis glances at Gemma as he passes on his way to the stairs. She’s just rolling her eyes, shaking her head. 

“Bye, Gems.” Louis says, “Bye, H.”

He had gotten a foot onto the first stair when he is stopped. Tugged back by a hand circling his wrist. 

“Hey, I, uh… had a really good time tonight. And last Friday.” Harry says quietly, words quick and jumbled. He runs a hand up the back of his neck, not exactly meeting Louis’s eyes.

Louis searches his face. _Where is he going with this? Where, where, where?_

“I guess, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to do it again sometime? Like in a more official way?”

Louis is floored. And more than anything, Louis wants to say yes. 

But, he can see Gemma watching them carefully from the middle of the room. And he can see the simple impossibility of having any type of real relationship in this homophobic town, with his even more homophobic step-father. There are so many factors pushing him towards “no.” So many factors pushing him to walk away now before anyone gets too invested. To walk away before Harry gets too invested because it’s unfair to drag him into this mess that is Louis’s life. 

Gemma is right. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ready.

A small part of him still screams, flings doubts. Harry can’t possibly have an interest in him. Harry can’t possibly be gay. Harry doesn’t have any type of crush on the pathetic pastor’s son who plays at rebelling, but doesn’t really have it in him. 

Most of him knows, though, that he’s trying to project his insecurities onto Harry. The boy had just made him dinner and cuddled him twice over the past few days, for crying out loud. Louis may be a lot of things, but he’s not totally dense. 

Harry must have been able to read the indecision playing out on Louis’s face. Louis sees the disappointment flash, quick and painful, across his features. “Just think about it, okay?” Harry asks, eyes earnest. 

And, Louis can’t stand it. Can’t stand looking at Harry and seeing him hurt and disappointed. It’s the worst pain Louis can imagine. Worse than anything his step-father could dole out on him. Worse than any physical pain he’s experienced. And Louis’s tired. Tired of being the cause of Harry’s disappointment. Tired of always playing it safe. Tired of always ignoring his feelings, denying the feelings of those around him. Particularly, of Harry. 

“Don’t need to think. We can most definitely do this again.” Louis says, finally. Finally.

Harry lights up, lights up like a Christmas tree. Louis knows, realizes in that moment, that he has made the right decision. He’s ready to fight. Any consequence will be worth it. Worth it just for seeing Harry’s simple reaction. “I can’t wait.” He says. 

Louis is still very much aware of Gemma’s knowing eyes on them. Louis tries his best to convince himself that it’s too dim in the basement for Gemma to see just how deeply he’s blushing. He hopes she’s okay with his decision, that she thinks he’s made the right one. 

“Bye, Lou.” Harry whispers, dropping his fingers to squeeze Louis’s hand before stepping away. 

“Right, well.” Louis says, a bit more flustered than he had a right to be. “See you soon, then.” He gives Harry one last smile before turning towards the stairs. 

As he walks out to his truck, some of Louis’s worries and doubts filter into his thoughts. But, he’s honestly still glowing. Holding back for so long, letting go is freeing. 

Harry likes Louis and Louis likes Harry and things are almost too good to be true. 

✝

_**March 2014** _

_Harry didn’t hate Hemingway, Alabama. Not like Louis did, anyway. But, Louis had good reason to hate the town. For him, it represented something evil and oppressive. It wasn’t like that though, for Harry. Harry didn’t associate the town with anything other than his childhood._

_Hemingway certainly had its charms, its upsides. Harry liked that he knew everyone, that everyone said hello to him on the street, in the hallways. He liked how the streets in his neighborhood were lined with mossy trees. He liked how there were always children playing in their yards, safe and sound. He liked how all the houses were unique, old-world-charming, Georgian-style architecture creating the allusion of class. He even liked the heavy heat, for the simple reason that it was familiar and felt like home._

_But, nothing about the town was quite as charming as the drive-in movie theater. It was one of the last left standing across the entire country. You would go, park your car backwards, and sit in the trunk watching a movie projected on a giant screen, under the stars. It was only one price for a carful. It was fun, for a mostly sleepy town._

_That drive-in movie theater was one of the first places Louis had wanted to go when he first got his license. It was the spring of Louis’s sophomore year of high school. Harry would be a freshman in the fall. Louis was already talking to Hannah Walker at this point. They would start dating in April. Only a few weeks later._

_It was a Saturday night and, after dinner, Louis had come around and told Harry and Gemma to pile into his new truck. Well, new-to-Louis truck. It was a bit weather-beaten, the light blue paint faded and chipping in places. But, it was perfect and Harry loved it._

_Louis looked so good, so happy and free, sitting behind the wheel._

_The truck had a bench seat, no room in the back. Gemma made Harry sit in the middle. Harry wanted to sit in the middle, sit next to Louis. It worked out._

_The whole ride, Harry was trying not to make it too obvious that he was purposefully knocking his knee into Louis’s every once in a while just to feel the jolt of electricity that rocked through his nervous system._

_Once they got there and Louis had parked, he ushered Gemma and Harry out of the truck. The gravel crunched under their feet as Louis led them around to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate, revealing what he had done inside. The truck bed was lined with blankets and pillows and it looked like a dream. Harry wanted to sink into it immediately._

_“Lou,” Gemma said. “Are you trying to seduce us?”_

_Louis laughed. “No, I just thought it would be fun. More comfortable.”_

_“I love it.” Harry said, before he could stop himself._

_It earned Harry a heart-stopping smile. So, he was sure it was worth it._

_“Well, climb in everyone.” Louis said. “Make yourselves comfortable.”_

_And, Gemma and Harry did._

_Once it finally got dark, the movie began and it was surprisingly cold outside. March in Alabama usually meant no colder than fifty degrees, even in the wee hours of the morning. Tonight, it was definitely colder than that._

_Gemma had fallen asleep halfway into the first movie. Harry didn’t know how she could do that, fall asleep during movies._

_He, on the other hand, had started shivering a few scenes ago. Burrowing deeper into the blankets helped a bit, but not as much as he would have liked. Harry looked over, then, and saw that Louis was watching him._

_“Cold?” Louis asked, voice a whisper carried on the night air._

_Harry just nodded._

_“Me too,” Louis said. “C’mere.”_

_Louis opened up his arms, indicated that Harry snuggle closer. No one had to tell Harry twice. Though, it was quite nerve-wracking. What did this mean? Just a friend thing, right?_

_Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Harry pillowed his head on Louis’s chest and pulled the blankets up to their noses._

_Harry shivered again. It wasn’t because of the cold._

_“Still cold? Maybe it would help if we twined our feet together.” Louis whispered, breath ghosting across Harry’s face now that they were so close._

_Harry’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t do anything but nod his head._

_Harry had never been so close to Louis and he never wanted this to end. This simple intimacy was getting into his head, was making him crazy. These feelings that he was having were intense and kind of scary. Of course, he had known that he was in love with Louis. But, actually doing something like this was different from imagining it._

_After a while, his arm went numb. Harry had to move it. While he was searching for a comfortable place to relocate his limb, he accidentally skimmed the exposed skin of Louis’s stomach where his shirt must have ridden up._

_“Jesus, Haz.” Louis said. “Your hands are freezing.”_

_Louis found his hand under the blanket and weaved their fingers together. Harry thought he might die._

_The movie was long since forgotten._

_Everything was so comfortable, yet so very consuming. Harry never wanted it to stop. Never wanted it to end._

_It was like the quiet, the silence and the darkness, were acting as concealment, as a barrier from the rest of the world. here, time didn’t seem to matter. Their actions also didn’t seem to matter. Here, they were under the spell of the starry night sky and could do anything they wanted._

_Luckily for Harry, Louis seemed to want to do just what he wanted to do._

_And, under the cover of darkness, it seemed, he wasn’t afraid to do it._

✝

_But, then the movie ended and it was like the spell had been broken. Harry and Louis awkwardly untangled their limbs, untwined their fingers, scooted away from one another without meeting the other’s eyes._

_They never really mentioned it again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: thelarryaesthetic 
> 
> Also, the song I mentioned, _Portugal_ by Walk the Moon, is basically the inspiration for this entire story and my favorite song in the whole world, so you should look it up and listen to it because it's amazing and makes me cry sometimes if I'm alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**October 2015**

It becomes their routine over the next few weeks. Gemma leaves right after dinner. Harry and Louis retreat to the basement. 

Gemma is still, technically, sneaking out. It’s a mystery to Louis why Gemma doesn’t just ask her mom if she can go out with Liam on weeknights. He knows, without a doubt, that Anne would say yes. But, Louis figures the thrill of sneaking out is just more fun. Truthfully, Louis doesn’t care all that much. It gives him more of an opportunity to spend time with Harry. There’s no way he’s going to jeopardize that by complaining. 

That night, Louis is as close to sitting in Harry’s lap as he possibly could be. His legs are bent, bridged over Harry’s thighs. The arm of the couch presses into Louis’s spine, but Louis has no intention of moving.

A comfortable silence had settled over them. The television, playing some pointless Hallmark movie of Harry’s choosing, can’t keep Louis’s attention. And, when Harry looks as though he is about to start crying in tandem with the lead actress, Louis thinks it’s high time to change the channel.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Harry protests, automatically reaching for the remote in Louis’s hand. 

Resolutely, Louis holds the device out of Harry’s reach, extending his arm further and further the more Harry tries for it.

Pretty soon, the fight for the remote turns into a wrestling match on the couch and they are both laughing so hard that they can barely keep it together. (Well, that’s the state Louis is in, at least). But, before he can even grasp what is happening, Harry takes advantage of Louis’s giggly and vulnerable state and tackles him, pinning his wrists over his head, hovering over him.

Suddenly, Louis isn’t laughing anymore and the television remote is the last thing on either of their minds. 

“I really, really want to kiss you right now, Lou.” Harry whispers, searching Louis’s eyes with his own.

A few weeks ago, Louis probably would have freaked out. As it is, he’s only trying to get his brain to work for long enough to give Harry the go-ahead. “Want you to,” he finally manages. Not even able to hate himself for not coming up with something clever. For the way his voice shakes.

Louis’s heart pounds and Harry doesn’t hesitate. 

Harry presses his mouth to Louis’s. He drops Louis’s wrists, shifts so he can hold up some of his own weight on his elbows and cup Louis’s face between his hands. The kiss deepens. Louis brings his hands up around Harry’s shoulders, grabbing on and pulling their bodies even closer. Not close enough. Louis’s stomach had long since dropped to his toes; the feeling of kissing Harry more of a rush than any roller-coaster. But, also warm and sweet and lovely and Louis’s brain is short circuiting. 

The kiss eventually slows—frantic and needy to languid and lazy. Finally, Harry pecks Louis one last time before rolling off him. 

Louis blinks, blissfully happy and a little bit dazed.

Harry, with his back against the couch and his chest pressed against Louis’s side, pulls Louis against him, aligning their bodies, back to front. 

Louis is very aware of just how much he wants to bring his hand up and intertwine his fingers with Harry’s. Suddenly shy, for no reason at all. So as to test the waters, Louis brushes his fingers lightly against Harry’s hand where it sits heavy and sure on Louis’s chest.

When Harry sighs exasperatedly, Louis can feel it in his hair. “Do I have to do everything?” Harry asks before taking Louis’s hand in his own and weaving their fingers together. 

Even though Louis knows that Harry isn’t being serious, his words send a wave of guilt rushing through his system. “I’m sorry, I just don’t…”

“Lou, relax. I’m sorry - I was only kidding.” Harry says softly, pressing a kiss to Louis’s neck and nuzzling in with his nose to further prove his point.

Louis lets his worries melt away, lets his body melt into Harry’s. “Alright,” he sighs.

Harry tucks Louis’s head under his chin and pulls him impossibly closer. Louis doesn’t know that he’s ever felt so safe. 

✝

The next time Louis is consciously aware of his surroundings, he is in a slightly different position. His hands are now fisted his Harry’s t-shirt, his face buried in the fabric. Their bodies are aligned from chest to hip, ankles slotted together. It crosses Louis’s mind that he wouldn’t mind staying in this position forever. 

Harry’s hands ghost up and down Louis’s back, fingers following the ridges of Louis’s spine. He shivers involuntarily.

“Hey,” Harry says, sensing from Louis’s reaction that he’s awake. 

“What time is it?” Louis asks sleepily, not even sure if Harry can understand his words, directed into Harry’s shirt, muffled. 

“Like 12:30, I think.”

“12:30? Holy shit!” Louis exclaims, immediately trying to scramble up and out from under the blanket that Harry must have thrown over the two of them as Louis slept. His effort are thwarted by Harry and his refusal to let go of Louis, arms wound tightly around his body. “Harry, let go! I have to go!”

“No, you don’t, Lou.” Harry’s voice is soothing and Louis is starting to get angry.

“Hazza, let me go. What are you doing?”

Harry freezes at Louis’s words. Eyes widen. But, arms stay tightly gripped. “You remember your old nickname for me?”

“Of course I do, Harry. But, that’s not the problem right now.” Louis says, voice growing sharp. He manages to extricate himself from Harry enough to stand up from the couch, but Harry still has a tight grip on his arms. He is still stuck. “I have to get home. My step-dad’s going to kill me. You saw what happened a few weeks ago. Let me go!” As he speaks, Louis struggles to pry Harry’s fingers loose.

“Love, please calm down. Gemma called your mom, told her you guys have a project due tomorrow that you’re working on. She agreed to let you sleep here.” 

Harry’s words rush over Louis, wash away all his fight. Harry looks infinitely relieved once Louis has fallen still and stops trying to push him away. 

“Harry I… what?” Louis is kind of worried that he is still dreaming and that Harry’s words actually are too good to be true. He is sure that, soon enough, he will wake up and realize just how late it is and rush home only to get an emotional, or physical, beating. Louis hopes against all hope that that isn’t the case.

“Gemma sort of came down here and saw that you were asleep and told me not to wake you up this time because you don’t exactly sleep on a regular basis, or as much as you should. So, she called your mom and cleared it with her. You’re good, Lou. Everything’s fine.” Harry’s words simply pour from his mouth. He drops his grasp on Louis’s wrist, moves his fingers to twine through Louis’s instead. He tugs lightly, encouraging Louis to drop back down beside him. 

It doesn’t take much to convince him. Louis crawls back under the blanket beside Harry, letting him wrap his arms back around him. Harry kisses Louis’s forehead, lingering there almost reverently.

“You could have said all that sooner.” Louis grumbles under his breath, shifting back down into a comfortable position. 

Harry barks out a laugh. “You didn’t exactly give me the chance, babe.” Harry smiles, a look in his eyes that Louis can only describe as fond. Louis kind of maybe allowed himself to think about that a bit.

“Yeah, well.” Louis says, laying back down.

He had almost drifted back to sleep when Harry speaks, “I saw what happened a few weeks ago?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut tighter. _Why had he said that? Why, why, why?_

“Lou?” Harry asks when Louis doesn’t respond.

_What did Harry want him to say? What did Harry expect him to say?_

“Lou, you lied to me about that. Why did you lie to me?” Harry’s voice cracks in tandem with Louis’s heart.

It’s quiet for a while. Louis doesn’t know what to say. 

“Sorry I always fall asleep on you.” Louis says after a bit, choosing to ignore Harry because he has no idea what else to do. “It’s not because you’re boring or anything. 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Harry answers, so softly Louis isn’t sure he really said anything at all. 

Harry begins to play with the soft hair at the back of Louis’s neck. It feels amazing and Louis knows he doesn’t deserve this.

“We have to talk about this at some point though, Lou.” Harry says, refusing to let it drop.

Louis sighs, makes a vague sound of assent. “Later,” he allows. Hoping Harry will eventually forget about it.

Harry won’t forget. 

“Night, Lou.” Harry says, kissing the top of his head.

Louis drifts off to sleep, again. This time though, a little less restlessly.

✝

The next morning, Louis wakes up alone. Harry’s heavy limbs are no longer draped over his body. Louis misses the feeling of Harry desperately. It’s a strange and new sensation, to remember having Harry in this way and allowing to admit to himself how nice it is. 

Louis sees a slip of paper on the table. Harry’s handwriting.

_Lou,_

_I had to leave for football practice. But, I left you a clean t-shirt on my bed and you’re welcome to use whatever you need in the bathroom._

_See you later today,_   
_H_

Louis does as Harry instructs, taking a shower in his bathroom and then slipping into Harry’s t-shirt. The shirt smells like Harry and Louis kind of wants to wear it forever. Especially because it feels deliciously rebellious. No one knows aside from Louis and Harry, but that’s all that matters anyway. 

And later, when Harry comes up behind him in the hallway at school and whispers into his ear just how good he thinks Louis looks in his clothes, Louis is absolutely sure he never wants to take the t-shirt off. 

✝

That evening, Louis is still wearing Harry’s shirt. The material is deliciously soft and the fit is baggy, hanging loose around Louis’s frame. It’s the best thing Louis has ever put on and he most certainly is not planning on giving it back to Harry anytime soon. 

Louis is laying across the couch in his own living room for a change. He may or may not be texting Harry and smiling stupidly at his phone. 

“Who are you talking to?” Lottie asks, coming into the room and claiming one of the reclining chairs.

“No one.” Louis says. Automatic.

“Sure.”

Louis doesn’t answer. 

“Is that your shirt?” Lottie asks.

Louis glances down at the worn-in, green fabric. It’s most definitely not. _Is it more suspicious to lie? Or to tell the truth?_

“It’s Harry’s. I borrowed it from him since I spent the night over there last night.” Louis settles on the truth. It’s not a weird or unordinary truth. Borrowing your best friend’s brother’s shirt would be normal for anyone in that situation. _Right?_

Lottie doesn’t answer, so Louis flips over onto his stomach so he can look up at her. Her eyebrows are scrunched together, forehead wrinkled.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Louis asks. 

“I feel like you never tell me anything anymore, Lou. We used to tell each other everything.” Lottie says.

Panic seeps into Louis’s chest, tightening, tightening, tightening. “What do you mean? I’m telling you the truth.”

“I don’t mean about the shirt. I mean, like, in general.” Lottie runs the comb of her fingers through her hair. “You’ve been so happy recently. Even though John has been extra awful. I wish you wanted to tell me why you’ve been in such a good mood, Lou.”

Brain on overdrive. _What do I say?_ “I just can see the light at the end of the tunnel… college, and all that.”

Lips pressed into a thin line. Lottie doesn’t believe him. It’s not hard to tell.

Louis sighs. He knows Lottie isn’t little anymore. That she hasn’t been little for a while. It’s hard to reconcile his image of her as his baby sister with the fifteen year old girl right in front him.

“Please, Lou. Just tell me. I want to be someone who you can talk about these things with. We used to tell each other everything. What happened?” 

Everyone’s out. No one’s home. If he were going to tell his younger sister his biggest secret, this would be the perfect time. She wouldn’t tell mom or John, would she? _No._

“I’m texting Harry.” One breath. The words rush out on one breath. Eyes pressed closed, he opens one a bit to see Lottie’s face. To gauge her reaction. 

_She’s going to hate me now. I shouldn’t have told her. Why did I tell her?_

“What are you saying, Lou?” Lottie asks, face blank.

Already waist deep now, might as well dive all the way in.

“Lottie, I’m gay.”

Silence.

Louis plows forward. 

“Harry kissed me last night and I think we might be together in some aspect now.” 

Terror and relief—relief at finally telling someone, at saying the words out loud for the first time in his life; terror at what could possibly happen next—vie for prominence in Louis’s head. 

Except, the last thing that Louis possibly expected to happen, happens. Lottie bursts into tears. Her face in her hands, she cries. Louis doesn’t know what to do. Get up and comfort her? Leave the room? Before he can decide, Lottie gets up and comes over to the couch, laying down beside him and burying her face in his shoulder. Cautiously, Louis wraps his arms around her—half afraid she’ll bolt at the contact. But, she doesn’t.

It takes a few minutes for her to calm down. By that point, she’s left a sizable wet spot in the sleeve of Harry’s shirt. But, Louis doesn’t mind that much. Mostly, he’s just glad she hasn’t yelled at him, or denounced him, or run away from him. 

Louis feels her deep, shaky inhale of breath. “Sorry I’m a mess. Thank you so much for telling me, Lou. And, please know that I love you so much. Nothing could ever change that.” 

Louis’s heart swells. Lottie knows all of Louis now and she still feels that way about him. Louis’s pretty sure it’s a miracle. 

“Thanks, Lots,” he whispers into her hair. 

She gives a choked laugh. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to grow up in this house. That you’ve had to deal with John and all the terrible terrible things he says and all the terrible terrible things he does to you. Louis, more than anyone in the world, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I really hope you know that.” She breaks off, the tears returning. 

Water starts to prick in the corner of Louis’s eyes, too. Contagious. 

“Lottie, just you saying that means the absolute world to me.” Louis admits, voice thick.

“God, Lou. I just… I wish I could do something. But, I’m so glad to know that you have Harry standing beside you. And Gemma, I’m sure. And now I can be there backing you up, too.”

“Thank you, Lottie. Thank you so much. I love you.” 

The tears are freely flowing now, for both of them. They don’t talk anymore, having reached an understanding. Lottie won’t tell anyone. Lottie still loves him. Maybe these next couple of months he has left in this house won’t be so bad, after all.

✝

**_December 2013_ **

_The first time Harry kissed Louis was on a Sunday._

_“Alright, Gems: truth or dare?” Louis asked._

_It was the middle of winter break. The new year would bring Harry’s final few months of middle school. But, right now, they - Harry, Gemma, Niall, and Louis - were snowed in at his house. Of course, “snowed in” in Alabama meant a dusting of snow on the roads. Though, it was so rare that no one knew how to deal with it. God forbid anyone come and pick up Niall and Louis. A care wreck would surely ensue._

_So, there they were in the basement of Harry and Gemma’s house. It was late, their parents already asleep. Gemma had nabbed a couple of bottles of wine from their parents’ collection and they decided to play a game of truth or dare._

_It was Harry’s first experience with alcohol and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. But, one thing he did know was that Louis looked even prettier when he was drunk. Even in the dim light of the basement, Harry could make out the flush in Louis’s cheeks and it made his stomach swoop. Harry hated it. Kind of._

_“Um…” Gemma hummed as she contemplated her answer. “Truth.”_

_“Oh, boring!” Niall, probably the most drunk out of the four of them, shouted._

_Gemma rolled her eyes and reached across the circle to shove Niall. The blonde-haired boy toppled to the carpeted floor, cackling manically as he went._

_“Settle down there, bud.” Louis said, eyebrows raised as he watched Niall lose it._

_“Sorry. I’m good. Continue.” Niall righted himself and took another swig from the wine bottle._

_“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take that. Thanks.” Louis said, pulling the bottle from Niall’s hands and taking a swig himself. “Alright, Gems. Ready?”_

_“Ready.” She said, despite looking slightly apprehensive._

_“What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?”_

_Gemma’s narrowed eyes shot daggers at Louis. “C’mon. What a shitty question. You already know about that stuff.”_

_“Yeah, but your little brother might not.” Louis’s eyes were twin oceans, sparkling mischievously. He turned to wink at Harry._

_He probably should have been preparing himself for whatever traumatizing story was about to be related by his sister. But, Harry couldn’t get past those two words: “little brother.” It sucked. It really sucked. To Louis, Harry was only ‘Gemma’s younger brother.’ That was it. It was probably stupid and cliche and pathetic to have a crush on your older sister’s best friend. Yet, Harry couldn’t help but want to be everything to Louis. Even though, Louis probably wasn't even interested in boys. It sucked._

_“Ugh! Lou, I hate you so much!” Gemma exclaimed, thankfully bringing Harry back to the present and giving him something else to focus on._

_“You’re the one who picked truth, Gemma. You made your bed, now lie in it.”_

_Louis looked smug. Smug looked cute on Louis. Harry kind of felt like he might puke._

_“I kissed Perrie Edwards last summer.”_

_Louis gasped dramatically._

_Niall threw his head back and started cackling again._

_Harry felt his mouth fall open in genuine surprise._

_“Wait, you what? I didn’t even know that!” Louis said._

_“It wasn’t a big deal,” Gemma attempted to explain. “We’re not, like, gay or anything. Just wanted to see what it was like, I guess…”_

_No one said anything for an endless moment._

_Then, “well, what was it like?”_

_Harry hated himself. He couldn’t believe his brain had allowed those words to come out of his mouth. His cheeks flared and he instantly decided that his lack of thought must have been related to the alcohol. He never wanted to drink again._

_By some stroke of sheer luck, his sister continued as though Harry hadn’t just laid himself bare. “It was, like, normal. I don’t know.”_

_Harry dared a glance at Louis. Louis was staring at Gemma, but Harry couldn’t read the look on his face. It almost seemed like Louis had shut down, closed himself off… it was weird. But, it was only fleeting and Harry wondered if he had only imagined Louis’s shift in demeanor. Harry was probably just reading too much into it. Or, projecting._

_Either way, Louis clapped his hands together. The smile had returned to his face, but it seemed as if it didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. “Alright, whose turn is it, then?”_

_“Haz!” Niall trilled, turning to face him. “Truth or dare?”_

_Louis took yet another swig from the bottle. Harry watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed._

_“Um, dare.” Harry said._

_Niall rubbed his hands together conspiratorially, sparking up a good idea. “Hm… I dare you, Harry… to… kiss Louis!_

_Harry wondered if time stood still for everyone else._

_Louis, with even more alcohol running through his veins than just a few moments ago, had fully returned to his overconfident, cocky self. He smirked and waggled his eyebrows at Harry. Earlier, Harry had thought the alcohol was making him too bold. But, now he wished he had more of the warm, sloshy liquid zinging through his bloodstream. Harry blushed down to his toes and couldn’t help but drop his eyes. Wasn’t this what he wanted anyway? He could do this._

_He couldn’t do this._

_“Sticking with the theme. C’mon, Haz. Don’t be a chicken.” Gemma teased._

_“You picked dare - gotta do it.” Niall chimed in._

_Harry met Louis’s eyes._

_“Yeah, Haz. Grow some balls. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Louis challenged._

_So, Harry went for it._

_There was a ringing in his ears as he got on his knees and scooted across the circle towards Louis. His jeans made a strange type of scraping sound against the carpet. He felt hypersensitive to everything, except, unfortunately, the thoughts that were playing out in Louis’s mind. Harry couldn’t tell for the world what Louis was thinking. But, as soon as he was close enough, Harry leaned it._

_The kiss was only a peck, just enough to count. It was kind of awkward, but also kind of great and Harry had actually missed a little bit so he very much wished the he could do it again and make it better and kind of great for Louis, too. But, then Louis was laughing and everyone was laughing and Harry was wondering if the knot tied tight in his stomach would ever go away._

_“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” was what Louis said._

_Harry didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He couldn’t tell if it meant that Louis wished Harry hadn’t done it. Harry couldn’t tell. Louis wouldn’t meet his eyes, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: thelarryaesthetic


	7. Chapter 7

**October 2015**

Things go from zero to one hundred in less than a minute. It’s overwhelming. It’s Louis running up the stairs behind Harry, stumbling as he tries his best to keep up. It is fingers locked together, keeping them connected.

Then, it is getting slammed up against the back of the bedroom door, latch clicking into place under his body weight. It is Harry pressed flush against him from head to toe. Mouths locked together. Teeth, lips, and tongue clashing.

Louis is glowing in the feeling. He is drunk with it. The only thing his mind can process are the jolts of electricity rocking through his nervous system whenever Harry touches him.

_They are fingers through hair and hot breaths on necks and fire and heat and one single person._

Louis can’t remember ever feeling anything so intensely before. It’s scaring the shit out of him. But, there are better things happening at this moment in time to focus on, instead.

Harry breaks the kiss, immediately transferring his mouth to Louis’s neck, leaving Louis gasping for air. Too distracted to realize just how much oxygen he had been lacking. He feels Harry smile against his neck, feels his cheeks heat up, embarrassed at how much of a mess he is.

Harry reattaches his mouth to Louis’s. Louis is slowly melting, molding his body to fit into all the dips and grooves of Harry’s. Harry grazes his teeth across Louis’s bottom lip and it takes every shred of dignity Louis has left not to groan.

Then, Harry releases his mouth for a second time. Moves back to sucking on his neck. But, this time, Harry doesn’t stop there.

His mouth is on Louis’s neck,  
t-shirt pushed aside, on his collar bone,  
on his chest,  
down to his stomach,  
down,  
down,  
down.

Harry is on his knees in front of Louis and Louis’s legs are shaking and Louis’s heart is pounding out an erratic rhythm that is so loud he’s sure if there had been anyone else in the house, they certainly would have heard it.

Louis drops his head back against the door, his neck muscles useless. Lips press tightly together, Louis won’t moan. He _won’t, won’t, won’t._

Except. Something finally clicks in his useless brain when his ears register the rough sound of the zipper of his jeans sliding down.

This can’t be happening. Louis can’t let this happen.

“Harry,” he squeaks out, his voice so breathy it makes him blush all over again.

But, instead of stopping what he’s doing, Louis’s utterance only seems to encourage Harry. He hooks his fingers in Louis’s belt loops and begins to tug.

Fear rocks through his body. Louis’s heart stops, frozen. His hands scramble down to grab his pants before Harry can get them all the way off.

“Harry, Harry,” he says, desperation clinging to each syllable. “We can’t do this, you have to stop.”

Now, Harry does stop trying to take Louis’s pants off. He quickly stands up, but doesn’t remove his hands from Louis’s waist, his hips, his shoulders - Harry is everywhere. Between open-mouthed kisses, planted to Louis’s neck, Harry whispers: “Why, Lou? It’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

Louis takes a shaky breath. “Harry, I just… I just don’t know.”

Harry stops, pulls back so that he can look into Louis’s eyes. “Lou, baby, please. I want to do this for you. Let me.”

The indecision flashes across his face. Louis knows Harry can see it.

And, it’s not that Louis doesn’t want to. God, he wants to. He just… doesn’t want to be bad at this. Doesn’t want Harry to think he’s complete shit at this stuff, a stupid kid who has no clue what he’s doing and…

“Please, Lou. I’ll make you feel amazing. I promise.” Harry says, soothing hands running up and down Louis’s arms, grounding him, steadying him.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Louis mumbles under his breath, so low that he doesn’t think Harry hears him. He sighs, then nods. 

Harry drops back down onto his knees, running his hands along Louis’s sides as he goes. Every movement he makes is slow, measured - like he’s trying not to scare Louis. Once Harry’s in position, he looks back up at Louis, eyes requesting permission. Louis gives him another nod. Deep breath. He can do this.

He can’t do this.

_What’s happening? What’s Louis supposed to do? What, why, how?_

Harry pulls Louis’s pants down to his ankles. Hooks his fingers into the waistband of Louis’s boxers and pulls them down as well. Louis is exposed, embarrassed. He is already so hard, just from kissing, even through all his nervousness. Hard just from Harry. His cheeks _burn, burn, burn._

“You’re so beautiful, Lou.” Harry whispers reverently. Warmth shoots through Louis’s body. Maybe this is alright.

But, Louis really wanted something to do with his hands, wanted something to grasp, to steady himself. They grapple for purchase against the wooden door as Harry’s hot breath ghosts over him. 

“Lou, you can put your hands in my hair, if you want.” Harry’s big hands span his thighs, keeping him steady as Louis figures himself out. 

Once Louis had weaved his fingers through Harry’s hair, he feels better, more stable. He is so, so gentle, though. And worried that he will tug, hurt Harry later on.

“Ready, babe?” Harry asks, blinking up at him through thick, black eyelashes. Louis kinda feels like he might pass out.

“Yeah,” he chokes on the word.

Then, everything goes black. Then, everything is bursting with color. There are no thoughts, only light and sensations. 

✝

Afterwards, they lie on Harry’s bed. Louis is tired and sated and glowing and wishing that this had started happening a long time ago, hopes it’s something they will start doing more often. He hadn’t realized how amazing it could be. _Why had he even been so nervous?_

Louis is on his back, head on Harry’s arm. Harry is on his side, leaning into Louis, hand resting on his stomach. And at that moment, Louis is hyperaware of everything that involves Harry. The hand on his stomach is fire, burned down to the embers, smoldering. Harry’s breath is Louis’s breath, their chests moving in tandem, as one.

“So,” Harry begins, breaking the quiet that had settled over them. “I was wondering about homecoming and what you were thinking you wanted to do?”

“What?” Louis asks, half thinking he may have imagined Harry’s words, hallucinated his meaning.

“Homecoming? Like the dance?” Harry reiterates, looking at Louis with childish hope in his green eyes.

“The dance is lame, Harry.” Louis says, refusing to crumble in the face of Harry’s puppy dog eyes.

“Well, yeah, maybe. But, it’s your senior year, Lou. Might as well go and be miserable one last time before you can’t anymore. I mean, who knows. Maybe you’ll get elected homecoming queen or something. It would work because I’m obviously going to be homecoming king.” Harry flips his hair as emphasis of his point. Louis shoves him off the bed.

Harry falls to the floor with a crash, long limbs flailing everywhere. He jumps up quick, launching himself back onto the bed, onto Louis.

“Get off me, you oaf!” Louis tries to be serious, but he’s giggling now as Harry rolls them over so Louis lays on top of him, chest to chest. 

Harry reaches up and pushes back Louis’s fringe. Louis smiles at him, kind of sad. He sighs. “As tempting as that sounds Hazza… they’d kick us out. We can’t just show up to the dance together and expect everyone to just leave us be.”

“C’mon, Lou. Don’t be so dramatic about it. We could just go with everyone in, like, a big group.” Harry says. “It’d be totally fine, probably even fun. Please.”

“Harry…” Louis can’t say yes. There’s too much at stake. He’s already given himself to Harry. What more can he do? If they show up at the dance together, try to dance together - anything - the town would talk. They would get absolutely ripped to shreds. That is, if the faculty didn’t physically throw them out of the dance, off the premises.

“Let’s just go, Lou. Please. If it sucks then we can leave, promise.” Harry is still pouting and Louis is still not giving in. He can’t.

“Why do you even want to go so badly?” Louis asks, finally.

“Because I want to experience this with you.” Harry answers. “I want to experience everything with you.”

_And, what was Louis supposed to say to that?_

“But… but…” Louis tries, partially willing himself not to cry because why is Harry doing this to him? Why is he making this so difficult? Pushing for the kind of relationship that they just can’t have? Not here anyway. It’s killing Louis. “But, like, we can’t experience it together. Not really.”

“Just the two of us, there together, both knowing that we’re there with the other person, is enough for me. It’s all I want. Please, Lou.”

Louis searches Harry’s face. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He presses his eyes closed, assesses his emotions. _Is he really going to be so stupid as to give into this?_

“Alright,” he says. “Alright, fine.”

“Oh, Lou.” Harry says, joy in his eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Each word said between a kiss to Louis’s face, his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, his nose.

“Wait,” Louis says and Harry freezes.

“What?” Harry asks, wary.

“Who’s going to wear the dress?”

Harry throws his head back and laughs. Louis grins.

This boy, this boy is going to be the death of him.

✝

On Wednesdays, the church hosts their weekly community dinner. Except, it’s always a bit more of an event the week of the high school’s homecoming. 

To Louis, it seems as though the entire town is packed into the multipurpose room in the basement of the church. There are people everywhere - adults sitting at the tables and standing in circles talking; little kids running laps around the perimeter of the room, weaving between bodies and around tables. It is chaos, but Louis appreciates it. Less reason to focus on him.

Louis has been delegated to manning the drink table. It’s a bit out of the way of the general foot traffic, so Louis is grateful. Solitude and the opportunity to avoid judging eyes is always a good thing in this building.

Louis is so occupied with his own thoughts and the filling of the paper cups with home-brewed sweet tea that he doesn’t even realize the football team making their arrival. He doesn’t even realize Harry is there, until he is standing right in front of him. Harry leans his body into the table, goofy cute smile the only thing in Louis’s line of vision.

“I made it!” Harry says, seemingly proud for no reason at all.

“You had to come, you knob.” Louis responds, laughing and rolling his eyes at Harry.

At that, Harry reaches over the table and grabs the end of Louis’s tie between his fingers, tugging lightly. “Nah, I came to see you.”

“Fuck off.” Louis says, trying his very hardest to look stern as he pries Harry’s fingers out of the silky fabric of his tie.

If he gives them a squeeze before letting go, no one has to know.

Anyway, no one seems to be looking when Louis gives a cursory glance around after Harry had rejoined his team at one of the long tables. 

✝

“LOUIS TOMLINSON!”

The voice of Louis’s step-father booms through the house, bounces off the walls and rattles the picture frames where they hang neat in the hallway.

When his parents walk through the door, Louis is watching television with Lottie. They are both still in their dress clothes, having simply melted into the couch with exhaustion after getting home from church. With the twins and Fizzy already in bed, Louis had been considering going upstairs himself when his step-father came in, screaming his name. Now, his blood is frozen in his veins and he absolutely can’t move.

“Louis Tomlinson, get out here right now!”

Louis most certainly does not want to be anywhere near his step-father when he’s in a rage. But, it doesn’t seem like he has any other choice. Louis wishes he could actually melt into the couch cushions.

Lottie turns to him, her eyes wide as saucers.

It’s unclear to Louis exactly how he manages to pull himself from the couch and walk out to the foyer. 

As soon as he sees his step-father’s face, Louis wants more than anything to turn and run. Unfortunately, his feet are glued to the hardwood. There are tears shining in his mother’s eyes. He has no hope.

“What is this I hear about you and that Styles boy?” John’s tone is pure ice. It chokes Louis, cuts off his circulation.

“Wha-what?” He squeaks.

The blue vein in John’s forehead stands at attention, looking for all the world as though it were about to burst.

“Louis,” his mother begins, voice considerably softer than John’s. “We just heard a few people mention that you two have been acting strange around each other lately. Honey, people talk and we just don’t want them getting the wrong impression and spreading lies.”

Louis absolutely positively wants to die.

Even though he knows, he knows that his mother and step-father would never ever approve, he had still naively held on to a tiny sliver of hope. Hope, that at the very least, his mother might surprise him. He was _wrongwrongwrong_ to have allowed the hope to exist for as long as it did. Louis hates himself for that.

But, before Louis even has a chance to allow his brain to catch up with his mouth, words are spilling out. “Maybe they’re not getting the wrong impression.”

For one long moment, everything is silent. 

And, then:

_CRACK_

of skin against skin

Louis’s cheek _stingstingstings_

Eyes watery, from tears and the hot pain, Louis looks to his mom. She is standing back, allowing it to happen, allowing John to hit him.

“Louis, what did you just say?” Now, her voice wasn’t soft. Now, her tone of voice matches John’s.

Louis is numb. Numb and falling to pieces in front of these people. These people that he doesn’t even know. Everything hurts. 

“Nothing,” he finally says. One word. A whisper of defeat.

He doesn’t have the strength for anything else.

Louis hates himself for that.

✝

After that, Louis can’t sleep. His restless eyes scan the ceiling, reading his thoughts like a book. Harry is the only person who Louis has found that will support him unconditionally. But, he can’t keep him. Louis can’t live like this, can’t take John like this. He has eight more months. He can’t screw up his plans of escape now.

But, Harry.

Letting Harry go would kill him.

Lost in his thoughts and caught up in his own self-pity, Louis doesn’t hear the door open and shut softly. So, he jumps a bit when he feels a hand placed lightly on his shoulder.

But, it’s only Lottie. She gives him a sad smile before pulling back the covers and crawling into bed with him. 

They don’t even speak for a long time. Louis is just grateful for the company. 

Louis, though, eventually breaks the silence.

“Lottie, do you believe in God?” Louis asks. 

She doesn’t answer right away. But, then she says: “I mean, yeah. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Louis tells her honestly. 

It’s windy outside. The windows rattle.

“Why do you believe?” Louis asks.

Lottie turns over to give Louis a confused look that he can just make out under the cloak of darkness in the room. Religion has always been a fixture in their household. Even before John. But, it has never really been something that they’ve discussed. It’s strange. Just being expected to blindly accept something. To be expected to believe in something without much real, substantial explanation. “Why?” isn’t a question that is ever answered in this house. 

“I’ve never really thought much about it. But, I guess, I mean, if I didn’t believe in God, what else would I believe in?” Lottie reasons. 

Louis takes that in, absorbs her answer, mulls it over. Is that a good enough reason? A valid reason? To believe in something because it’s the only thing that’s been presented to you? And you can’t accept the answer of nothingness?

“What do you think happens to all those people in India who practice Buddhism, then? All the people in the Middle East who worship Allah? Or even the people here in the United States who follow different religions. Do you think they get to go to heaven?”

“Louis, I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“Why not?”

“I just, I feel like you’re expecting me to say something specific. But, I don’t really know what you want from me.”

“I’m sorry, Lots. I don’t meant to make you feel that way. It’s just that, like, I’ve never felt like I belonged and I’ve always asked myself these questions. I just honestly want to know what you think, what you believe. Because it feels like a conversation that’s worth having.”

Lottie sighs, searches Louis’s face in the dark. “I think that everyone, every single person in the world, gets to go to their own version of heaven when they die. At least, that’s what I like to think happens. I definitely don’t believe anyone deserves to go to hell just because they can’t accept the idea of God. In fact, the only person who I know who I believe deserves to go to hell is our step-dad.”

They fall silent after that, both lost in their own thoughts. Louis thinks Lottie may have fallen asleep, but he speaks anyway. Unable to keep his thoughts contained any longer.

“I have to tell Harry we can’t see each other anymore.”

“Oh, Lou. No! You can’t do that to him!” Lottie says instantly.

“I can’t keep this up, Lots. It’s too much. John is too much.”

“But, you promised you’d go to homecoming with him. Lou, you can’t back out on that. At least wait until after. After his big game and the dance. A few more days can’t hurt much.” 

Louis sighs. Maybe she’s right. He doesn’t want to distract Harry from his big game. There are scouts from big name schools coming to the game and everything. It would be pretty shitty of Louis to do it this week. He’ll wait until next week to end things with Harry. He would give himself these next few days as much as he would be giving them to Harry. But, then it had to end. 

Louis knows that’s the right thing to do.

So, why does it feel like the end of the world is fast approaching?

✝

As Friday rolled around, Louis had so far kept up his promise to himself to not think about his impending break-up with Harry until he had too. Next week. Not any sooner. He is beginning to believe that maybe he actually does deserve that much, at least.

Over the past few days, Harry hasn’t stopped talking about how excited he is for the game and for the dance on Saturday. Just based on the way Harry’s eyes light up as he talks about it, Louis knows he’s doing the right thing by waiting. Even though his head and his heart are at war, he knows he’s doing the right thing. 

Throughout the school day, Louis sees very little of Harry. Busy with homecoming preparations, the team is dismissed early from classes. Louis ignores how his heart pangs with missing him. It’s stupid. Louis needs to learn how to live without Harry for a few hours. Cutting him off cold turkey will be easier, though. _Right?_

That night at the game, Louis and Gemma stand down by the chainlink fence which rings the field instead of claiming their usual spot up in the bleachers. Louis has too much nervous energy to even think about sitting down and being still.

Harry quickly gets into his groove that night. Almost as quickly, Louis loses his grip on reality and watches the nagging voice in the back of his mind, telling him to begin detaching to make the separation next week easier, melt away. Harry effortlessly leads the game, runs touchdown after touchdown. But, unfortunately, the defense is not doing quite as well. It’s the last five minutes of the game and the score is tied. The other team has the ball.

Louis is unconsciously biting his fingernails—an attempt to expel some of his horrible, rattling nerves. It’s something he hasn’t done since he was young.

Noticing Louis’s intense focus, Gemma puts her arm around his waist and squeezes. “Relax, Lou. Your boy’s got this.”

Louis blushes at Gemma’s words. _His boy, Harry._

As it turns out, Gemma is right. Harry does have this. When he scores the winning touchdown, just seconds from the end of the game, Louis thinks he’s going to burst with pride. 

Louis knows he’s so gone. Too gone for his own good.

But, he’ll worry about that later. When he has to.

Louis and Gemma allow themselves to be swept up in the sea of people heading for the gates, forming the tunnel that will lead the team back into the locker room. Shoving aside people, they manage to make their way to the front row of bodies.

The team is still out on the field. Every player seems to want to hug Harry, congratulate him. A pang of jealousy prods at Louis’s heart. He knows that Harry doesn’t care about any of those boys like he cares about him—it isn’t that at all. Louis just wishes that he was allowed to hug Harry like that in public. Congratulate him and show him just how proud he is—show everybody just how proud he is of this boy, _his boy._

Louis forces himself not to dwell on it. Tonight is for Harry.

Soon enough, the team starts to move towards the building and through the tunnel of people. Harry is in the lead, shaking his helmet over his head in victory. Louis smiles. Harry is cute.

When Harry gets close enough to see Louis right at the front line of the tunnel, he breaks into a smile that is so wide it makes him look silly. Harry’s eyes light up, sparkle with the lights of the stadium. The world narrows to a point. Louis suddenly can’t seem to see anything but Harry.

Well, maybe he’s being dramatic. But, that’s what it feels like. 

✝

Louis waits for Harry to come out of the locker room. He’s sitting in his truck, parked behind the building. Engine on. Lights off. He waits for a while. Watching the rest of the team stream out the doors and head to their cars, head to their friend’s cars, head to their girlfriend’s cars. Louis knows Harry is waiting. Louis had told him to.

It’s been at least ten minutes since he last saw the door open. All the cars have driven away. Only a few stray, unoccupied cars sit in the lot. Louis is in the dark.

Then, he sees the door open. Light from the inside spilling out into the night. Next, Louis sees the unmistakably curly hair. Hidden under a beanie, wet. Louis’s favorite. He shuts off the engine and jumps out of the car. The slam of his door reverberates off the face of the brick building. Louis starts running. 

Jumping. Right into Harry’s arms. His legs wrap around his torso, big arms wrap around his waist. He is crashing his lips into Harry’s and skewing his beanie because he wants to get his fingers in his hair. He can’t even think. All he feels is pride and want and something warm and sharp at the base of his spine. It makes his chest tighten. Or, maybe that’s the lack of oxygen.

Harry hitches him up better on his hips. Turns them both around so that Louis’s back is against the brick wall, cold through his sweatshirt. Harry is everywhere now, pressing into him, too much fabric. But, the thrill of this, the thrill of being in public, where every could potentially see, but no one is going to, is like no drug Louis could ever imagine. He is intoxicated, glowing, reeling, flying.

But, it has to end eventually. Louis is classy. There is no way he’s having sex against a brick wall outside the boy’s locker room. No, thank you.

And if they both go to the same party later, careful to walk in the door a few minutes apart, no one has to be any the wiser of what’s really going on.

✝

Saturday afternoon finds them all in Gemma’s basement. Gemma. Louis. Harry. Liam is coming over later, for dinner. Meeting the parents. Gemma is nervous even though she would never admit it. Louis doesn’t really understand why. It isn’t like Anne doesn’t know Liam, doesn’t know him just from living in this town, doesn’t know him from being friends with them all for the past six years. Louis thinks it’s silly. But, then again, he pictures himself and Harry telling his parents they’re dating and decides to keep his mouth shut.

They are all dressed up for the dance already. Gemma looks beautiful in a dark blue dress. But, Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything quite as beautiful as Harry in a tux. _Goddamn._

That’s when the doorbell rings. Gemma pales a bit, then steels herself and stands from the couch. “I guess I’ll go get that.”

Louis watches her leave. She curled her hair, the curls made her brown hair look shinier, catching the light. They bounce as she walks away, around the corner. Then, she’s gone and Louis and Harry are alone.

“Finally,” Harry groans. “I thought she would never leave.”

Louis laughs. “Been waiting to get me alone, have you Harold?”

“Always,” Harry murmurs, tugging Louis to him.

Louis settles in his lap, hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry puts his hands on either side of Louis’s face and coaxes his head down so he can press their lips together.

“When are you going to let me introduce you to my parents?” Harry asks, velvety soft lips ghosting across Louis’s.

Louis feels himself freeze, tense up. He knows Harry feels it too because his hands drop down to Louis’s waist. A firm grasp, like he’s trying to keep him grounded, prevent him from running away.

Louis does wish he could run away from that question. 

“Harry,” Louis says his name like a sigh. He doesn’t know what to say, what to tell him.

They can’t tell. It will get back to Mark. Louis knows it will. And then what? No matter how soon he breaks it off, with how much finality. He’d be dead. Buried in a stiff white shirt, dirt shoveled over his coffin with finality.

“She knows. They both do.” Harry says.

Louis blood ran cold. Terrified. “Harry! About us? Are you kidding me! You told?!” Louis has fisted his hands in the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket, twisting the fabric tighter with each word.

“Lou, chill. I meant they know I’m gay.” Harry brings his fingers up to Louis’s, gently trying to pry them out of the fabric before he wrinkles it. “I wouldn’t do that to you, out you like that.”

Louis takes a deep breath, tries to calm down once he’s realized that the world isn’t ending. Then, his defense mechanism kicks in. “Wait, you’re gay? I had no idea. What the heck, Harry! Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis’s joke is broken when his voice cracks with repressed emotion.

“Lou,” Harry says, voice strong. Stern. His eyes say, _this is no time for jokes._

Louis frowns and looks away.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you about this. Please, Louis.” Harry pleads.

Air forced out his nose. Lungs empty. “Harry,” Louis begins. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We can’t tell your parents because then my parents might find out, other people in the town might find out. Not that they’d rat us out on purpose. I wholeheartedly believe that they’re wonderful people, but accidents happen. Things slip. I can’t risk it.”

“It feels a bit like you’re ashamed of me, like…”

Louis is fierce, hands circled around Harry’s wrists for a change, pulling his palms away from his face. “Harry, no. Never. I…”

“Lou, I know that’s not it. I know that it’s because you’re ashamed of yourself and that kills me, that kills me even more.” 

Harry looks defeated. Louis feels defeated, offended, defensive. But, maybe only because Harry is right.

“Look, if this ever gets around to my step-father, he will legitimately kill me and you will be attending my funeral. I don’t understand why you don’t understand that. It has nothing to do with anything, except my livelihood.”

“It’s just not fair,” Harry mutters the words, chews on them. “I just want to be able to take you out on a date, treat you the way you deserve to be treated and it’s not fair that I can’t do that. It’s not goddamn fair.”

Harry’s hands are on Louis’s hips now, squeezing hard. Louis wonders vaguely if he will find bruises there later and tries to decide how he feels about that.

Like he could read his thoughts, Harry instantly lets go, draws back.

“I’m so sorry, Lou. I didn’t realize. I…”

“Harry, stop. You’re fine.”

“No, I don’t want to hurt you. Even a little bit. I don’t want to be anything but gentle with you. You deserve gentle. More than anyone, Lou. You deserve to be treated well and I…”

“Boys,” Harry’s mom yells down from the top of the stairs, voice bouncing off the dry-wall, bouncing between them and shattering the moment. Louis scrambles off Harry’s lap and straightens his slightly skewed suit jacket. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Be there in a second,” Harry yells in answer. 

He sighs, running his hands roughly over his face. Hands planted on his knees as leverage to stand up from the couch. He comes over to stand in front of Louis. Warm hands on either side of his face, tilting his head up so that they are looking each other in the eye. Louis reaches up and wraps his hands around Harry’s wrists, holding him in place.

Harry bends down and brings their mouths together, kissing Louis sweetly, reverently, and with a promise of more to come. A promise of never giving up.

Maybe dealing with John a few extra times a month is worth this…

“Boys!” Harry’s mom yells down again. 

“Coming!” Harry answers, planting a kiss on Louis’s hair before releasing him. Harry runs his hand through Louis’s hair, smoothing it down and over to one side. He then offers Louis his hand to hold. Louis takes it and they walk together up the stairs.

They release hands right before they emerge into the kitchen, at the top of the stairs. It is crazy and worrying just how much, just how immediately, Louis misses the contact. Misses the warmth. Misses Harry. Louis knows it’s a problem. 

_What is he going to do?_

✝

They go to homecoming in a group. Louis and Harry. Gemma and Liam. Zayn and Perrie. Even though Louis hated the idea in the beginning, he can’t help the warm ball of light that sits in the pit of his stomach and makes him feel light and warm and happy.

Once they’re there, it’s so so hard to keep their hands off one another. So, when Harry nods at the door and walks out, Louis is only a few moments behind. 

Following Harry around the side of the building, Louis doesn’t even give in to his paranoid side and look around. To see if anyone noticed them leave. If anyone is around to see.

He doesn’t care. All he wants is Harry’s body pressing him against the bricks wall for the second time in two days.

✝

**_October 2014_ **

_Harry didn’t know what response he expected from his mother when he told her he was gay. But, the one he got was better than anything he could have hoped for._

_In such a small, southern town with resolute Christian values, it always amazed Harry that his mother was so accepting, so accommodating, so understanding. It didn’t make sense._

_But, then again, Harry wasn’t going to complain._

_It was his freshman year of high school and Harry was certain he was gay. (Certain he was in love with Louis.)_

_It was Saturday afternoon, the weekend. Harry had just gotten the picture of what Louis would look like in his clothes that morning when Louis had come in and asked to borrow a clean t-shirt. Harry had thought he might pass out at the sight._

_Now, he just felt itchy. He wanted to tell someone, anyone what he was feeling. He didn’t want to keep it in any longer. Of course, Gemma knew. Had always known. But, that was different. Older sisters who double as best friends don’t count. Harry was ready to tell his mom._

_So, he asked her to sit down with him at the kitchen table. Then, he laid down his cards._

_“Mom,” he began. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”_

_Short, simple, and straight to the point. Well, not straight, exactly._

_His mom didn’t say anything, just looked at him for a bit, amusement shining in her eyes._

_Fear gripped Harry for a moment, just a minuscule moment. The thought struck him that perhaps his mom was going to laugh, take his admission as a joke. That would kill him. That would be nearly the worst thing he could imagine._

_“I know, honey.” His mom said._

_Harry was incredulous. “You know?”_

_“I mean, I obviously didn’t know. But, I assumed - had a good feeling that you were.” She told him._

_“But… how?” Harry asked, still quite surprised._

_“You’ve been looking at Louis and treating him like a God since you guys were in elementary school. It just kind of seemed like the natural conclusion to draw.”_

_Harry’s cheeks burned. He hadn’t realized he’d been so obvious. Maybe even Louis knew. Maybe Louis knew and he could hardly stand Harry for it. He groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Oh, God.”_

_“Honey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His mother said, reaching across the table and taking Harry’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. “Thank you for telling me, dear. Now, I just want you to know that I don’t think any differently of you. I still love you with all of my heart, unconditionally.”_

_“Thanks, mom.” Harry said, smiling at her. How had he gotten so lucky?_

_“But, I also want to tell you to be careful with Louis. The situation he’s in is quite fragile and, I know you love him, but I don’t want you to jeopardize him in any way.”_

_Harry began to protest, but his mom shushed him._

_“Baby, I know you would never, ever mean any harm. But, just know that he doesn’t necessarily have the freedom to be himself right now in the way that you do. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just want you to be aware of all the implications your actions can have.”_

_“Mom, you’re acting like I’m going to try to start a relationship with Louis. It’s not like he even feels the same way.”_

_His mother raised her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t be so quick to say that,” she said._

_Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. “Well, thanks for the advice. And for being the best mom ever.”_

_Harry got up to move around the table, bending over to give his mom a tight hug. “I love you,” he told her._

_“Love you, too, Harry.” She answered._

_Harry knew he was lucky. Knew that not many parents, especially in this town, would be so open and accepting of their children after an admission like Harry’s. Harry knew he was lucky._

_What Harry didn’t know, was how to take the information that his feelings might not necessarily be unreciprocated. Those were things moms were supposed to say, right? She was just being crazy, right?_

_Harry didn’t know what to think._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait for this chapter! But, I'm finally done with my first year of college, so I plan to get back into a regular updating schedule and finish up this story over the next couple of weeks! 
> 
> Also, I just want to warn you that this chapter is a bit of a bomb, like the major turning point in the story. (Sorry to come back with that after so long.) But, if you don't remember where we are, I would recommend skimming through the last chapter as a refresher!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**October 2015**

Hell doesn’t freeze over until Monday.

The headline of the article reads: “Hemingway’s New Star Quarterback Celebrates Win.” Their picture is huge, plastered on the front page of the school news paper. Personal, private, incriminating.

Photographic evidence, an article written about their secret relationship. The picture is from Friday night, after the game, behind the locker rooms. Even though it had been dark, they brightened the picture. Made it so the figures of both Harry and Louis are undeniable. They can’t even pretend that everyone has it all wrong, can’t play it off. There is no escaping that picture. Now, everyone knows. 

_Who had taken that picture? Knew where to be? Louis had tried to be so careful._

✝

**Hemingway’s New Star Quarterback Celebrates Win**

At the beginning of the season, spectators were shocked when the first game revealed the starting line-up for the Hemingway Hurricanes football team. No one seemed to expect newcomer, sophomore Harry Styles, to earn the spot of starting quarterback. Many were worried that Styles wouldn’t be able to hold up under the pressure, especially with so little varsity experience.

Yet, young Styles proved those who doubted him very, very wrong. Going on to prove his superior ability, as well as his superior sportsmanship, throughout the season. The town quickly fell in love with this charming player, this extremely talented young man. Styles, himself, is one of the reasons for the Hemingway football team’s amazing successes this season. 

But, one thing everyone might not know about Hemingway’s sweetheart is that he likes to celebrate his wins with senior, Louis Tomlinson. Pictured above, Tomlinson and Styles can be seen sharing a kiss against the wall of the boys’ locker room. Now, we don’t know about you, but we want to congratulate the boys on such a public, and unashamed, celebration. You don’t see such openness often in a town like ours. 

Finally, we would like to note that no statements have been made by the Hemingway High School Administration or Coach Anderson, the head football coach for the Hemingway Hurricanes. We are all certainly waiting with bated breath to discover the fate of the Hemingway football team after this revealing incident. Any and all updates will be reported here in the Daily Hurricane.

✝

A soundtrack of derogatory terms plays in Louis’s head. A continual loop of _fag, fag, fag._

By third period, he can’t pretend anymore. As he walks out the main entrance, the ladies in the main office don’t even dare to speak to him, try to stop him, even look at him. Any contact with him and they might catch IT, _right?_

Louis doesn’t even wait until he has shut himself in his truck before he starts to cry. Tears streak down his cheeks. Sobs wrack his body, painful. Devastated. Devastated and angry. With himself. With this stupid town. 

He is certifiably dead.

Louis can’t even stop his hands from shaking enough to put his key in the ignition. It’s not like he has anywhere to go anyway. It’s not like he can drive away from all his problems. Because, where did he have to go anyway?

He doesn’t know how long he’d been just sitting there when he hears a tap on the passenger side window. He looks over, mostly expecting to see Harry. Instead, it’s Gemma. He reaches over to unlock the door. She climbs up beside him.

They just sit together for awhile. The only sound in the cab is Louis’s uncontrolled sniffling. He feels pathetic.

“Hey,” she says, finally. “What are you thinking?”

Louis lets out a choked laugh, voice thick from crying. “Just wondering who’s going to show up to my funeral tomorrow.”

Gemma doesn’t even try to tell Louis that he’s being dramatic, that he’s being ridiculous. She knows.

“Harry’s worried sick about you, you know. He’s getting hit by this, too.” Gemma says.

“I know,” Louis sighs. But, how is he supposed to help Harry when he can’t even help himself?

“It just might be, like, easier if you guys dealt with it together.” Gemma suggests. 

“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do that would make this easier.” Louis says.

Gemma doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then, “Just don’t shut Harry out. Please.”

The thing is, Louis doesn’t know what else he could do to fix this situation.

The absolute worst possible thing has happened and Louis is spiraling out of control. 

✝

They are waiting for him when he gets home. It’s late. Almost ten. Louis had stayed away for as long as he could. Side-by-side on the couch, his mom and step-father were dead silent. It had started to rain that afternoon. How fitting. Louis’s shoes squeak on the hardwood of the foyer. He winces. The tension is crippling. He wishes he could disappear.

“Louis,” his step-father says, words sharp as knives, slicing through the air, thick with implied disappointment and menace and hate. “Come in here and sit down please.” 

Louis doesn’t know what else to do except obey.

It probably would be less scary if John had been on a rampage. His quite, controlled anger is terrifying. His heart beats erratically in the cavity of his chest. He can feel the blood pounding in his body, through his head, in his fingertips, in the hot flush of his chest.

“I think you know what your mother and I would like to discuss.” John says.

Oh, Louis knows. He knows so well that he wouldn’t have come home had he had some other option.

Realizing they are waiting for a response, Louis forces himself to nod.

“Good. Now, we know about the article in the school newspaper. While we are extremely upset and, frankly, horrified at your actions. It has made us realize that you are crying out for help. And, as you are our son, we would like to do everything in our power to help you.”

_What?_

_Where is this going? What are they going to say? Why, why, why_ had Louis allowed himself to end up in this situation?

“We’ve already signed you up for an eight-week group therapy session in the city. So long as you agree to accept our help and to never see this Styles boy again, your mother and I believe you will be well on your way to earning forgiveness, both ours and God’s.”

Louis’s mouth falls open. He can’t believe, can’t accept, what he just heard. Even living with his mother and stepfather for years—it doesn’t make sense. _How could his own parents treat him like this?_

“We just don’t want you caught up in this lifestyle that’s not truly reflective of who you are. We don’t want you caught up in any more lies, sweetheart.”

It all builds up inside of him. Louis feels as though he’s going to explode. He always has had trouble keeping his mouth shut at the most vital of times. “What lies? That I’m gay? Because I’m not so convinced that that’s a lie.”

It takes Louis a moment to process that he has actually said something, that the has actually just stood up to his parents. For the first time in his life—it’s freeing.

That is, until he actually has to deal with the consequences.

“Louis,” his mother chokes and sputters on his name. “What are you saying?”

It’s too late now. He has already put his foot in his mouth. 

“I’m not caught up in any lies.” 

It feels just as powerful and terrifying to stand up to his parents, as it does to finally, explicitly own up and truly admit it to himself.

And

then

everything

went

wrong.

“Get out.”

With only two words, Louis’s step-father destroys that fledgling feeling of pride. Takes it and shatters it into pieces that lie strewn across the floor.

Even if they are mad, furious at him, Louis never in a million years would have expected to hear those words. How could a parent do this to their son? How could a human being do that to another human being? 

“What?” Louis asks, broken voice to mirror his pride.

“I said, get out of my house.” His step-father’s voice is firm, rattling Louis down to his bones. “Get out of my house and don’t even think about coming back unless you’re ready to act normal, act like a member of this family.” 

“Mom?” He pleads, not even caring that his voice cracks over the single syllable, that tears are now making tracks down his cheeks.

His mom gives him a sad look, but nothing more. She simply shakes her head.

Louis is numb and the door is so far away. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it. How he’s going to make himself walk out that door. His brain refuses to fire commands through his synapses, to his muscles, to his nerves. Frozen, frozen, frozen.

His step-father stands up, looks down at him. “I want you gone before I come back down the stairs.” Is all he says before leaving the room.

Finally, some primal instinct allows Louis to move his limbs. They carry him towards the door, grab his car keys off the side table, turn the cold, metallic knob of the front door.

Footsteps pound down the stairs behind him. Louis’s heart hammers in his chest, but he turns to see Lottie sliding on sock feet. “Lou, wait!” She screeches, voice frantic, afraid.

Before Louis can respond, reach out to her, his mother is there. Now, intimidating, imposing. Louis doesn’t even know her.

“Lottie,” she says, sharp and cutting. “Go back upstairs. It’s not your place.”

Lottie doesn’t say anything, just tries to fight free of their mother’s arm that holds her back, barricades her from her brother. 

“Louis,” she pleads, tears wavering, her eyes big and blue. So like his own.

“I’ll see you soon, Lots.” He tells her. “Promise.”

He knows his mother is glaring at him, attempting to drill holes into the back of his skull with her eyes. He forces himself to turn around and walk out the door. 

✝

Louis doesn’t even know where he’s going until he gets there.

He sits in the driveway, for God only knows how long. It takes him awhile to remember to cut the engine, for the tears to stop falling. His cheeks feel tight with the dried, salty water. It is still raining. It’s getting harder. Pretty soon, Louis can’t even see out the windows. Can only make out the shining porch light, a welcoming beacon. It’s almost like someone in the house left it on because they were expecting him. It’s a nice thought.

Louis makes himself get out of the truck. He can’t sit out here all night and he’s so tired. The bang of the door slamming shut behind him makes his head throb. The ground feels a little tilt-y under Louis’s unsteady feet, his wobbly legs. He feels so weak. Almost like he’s going to fall apart at any second. 

He hasn’t gone anywhere, yet. Just got down from the truck. He stands in the rain for a bit. The water soaks him through. Washes him away. Drowns him. 

Pushing through, Louis climbs the porch stairs and presses a finger into the plastic button. He can hear the sound of the doorbell echo through the house, clang through his body. 

Suddenly, a pang of fear rockets through him. He doesn’t want Harry to open the door. Doesn’t want to have to deal with that part of this whole situation right now. Just wants Gemma. Or, even Anne. Someone who doesn’t have expectations for him. Someone who won’t try to take on the responsibility of Louis’s situation like Harry will.

It’s just all too much. 

It’s Harry who appears in the doorway because, of course it is. The silhouette of his body is illuminated by the soft lights inside, behind him. 

“Lou?” Harry asks, eyes going wide and door flying open as he takes in Louis’s state. He supposes he does look quite a mess. “What’s wrong?”

“Um…” Louis mumbles. He can’t bring himself to meet Harry’s eyes. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, why he wants to hide from Harry. Even when the boy’s hands come up to rest on his upper arms, Louis can’t look at him. “Is Gemma here?” He tries, voice pathetic.

“No, but I am. Lou, are you okay?” The concern is so present in Harry’s eyes as he tries to pull Louis closer, to comfort him, to hold him.

_It’s too much. He can’t be who Harry wants him to be._

“Harry…” Louis knows that he’s being shitty by pulling away. He just… can’t. “I, uh, I can’t dump all my shit on you.”

“Lou, isn’t that what a boyfriend is for?”

Harry says it so innocently, so offhandedly. Louis begins to cry in earnest, again.  
“Oh God, oh God,” Harry chants. “I’m so sorry, Louis. I know I haven’t asked you or anything and I should just assume like that, I just really really like you, Lou. And I know everything’s screwed up now, but if that’s not what you want then that’s fine. I just… I’m so sorry.”

Thoughts race through Louis’s head. It’s over now. Everything’s blown up in his face. Everything is ruined. So, what’s the point in pushing Harry away? What’s the point in denying himself this boy who has been nothing but amazing and wonderful to him, always. All the worst possible consequences have already befallen them. There’s no point anymore.

Because Louis can’t seem to find the words to express what he’s thinking, he simply reaches up and knots his fingers in the curls at the base of Harry’s neck, crashes their lips together. He hopes his answer is clear. 

Harry responds instantly to Louis. Hopefully that means he gets the picture.

Harry’s warm hands span Louis’s back, holding Louis tight and gentle at the same time. Chest pressed together, heartbeats in sync. It all starts out needy and desperate because that’s how Louis feels. But, Harry knows that’s not what Louis needs. Harry slows everything down, the kisses turn warm and comforting.

By the time Harry pulls back, tears are still streaming down Louis’s face because, now that he’s started up again, he can’t seem to stop. Harry just keeps a tight hold of him. Searching Louis’s eyes with his own, Harry brings his hands up to cup Louis’s face, to wipe away his tears with the pad of his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

Louis hiccups through his tears. “Harry, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. So, stop, please.”

Harry nods, not wanting to fight Louis on anything right now. Louis leans forward, fists his hands in Harry’s t-shirt, collapses into his chest because he is just so tired. Harry meets him halfway, pulling Louis tight against his body, pressing light kisses into his wet hair.

“I’m sorry I’m all wet.” Louis says.

Harry laughs at that and Louis can feel it rumble through his chest, rumble through his own body.

“That’s never a bad thing,” Harry jokes.

Louis can’t help but smile because his boyfriend is so ridiculous. 

Harry wipes one last tear from Louis’s cheek before dropping everything except one of his hands. “C’mon, baby. Let’s go inside.” 

✝

They end up in Harry’s bedroom. Louis sits on the edge of the bed as Harry moves around the room, pulling out drawers and rifling through piles of clothes. He finds a sweatshirt for Louis to change into and then starts pulling on sweats of his own.

Louis doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t watching Harry as he changes. Butterflies flutter in his stomach. Even despite all that’s just happened. 

Louis figures that’s probably important.

Harry’s sweatshirt is so big on Louis. The arms hang over his hands and the hem reaches down to skim his thighs. But, it smells like Harry and home and it’s the coziest thing Louis has ever worn. He even felt a little bit, almost, happy.

“You can take my bed.” Harry says. He is pulling a pillow and a blanket down from the top shelf of his closet, laying them out on the floor, constructing a makeshift bed.

“Harry?” Louis asks, voice quiet.

“Hm,” Harry answers, his focus on the bed-making.

“Why are you doing that?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Why can’t we just, um, share the bed?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. Louis can’t bring himself to look up from his lap. _What if he’s overstepping some type of unspoken bounds?_ He very well could be. So, naturally, he plows forward. “It’s just that I don’t know how well I’ll be able to sleep tonight and you always make me feel so… so… safe and okay and I…”

“Lou, Lou. Baby, of course. I just didn’t know what you would want. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” Standing up quickly, Harry moves forward to sit next to Louis on the bed.

Louis feels infinitely small and fragile and vulnerable as Harry pulls him into his lap, cradles him against his chest. Louis doesn’t resist, clings onto Harry, thanking the universe for allowing him to have this wonderful person.

They just sit there for awhile, in silence. Eventually, Harry asks: “Do you want to talk about it?”

Louis knows that, no matter what, he has to tell Harry. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Anyone else to turn to. And even though Louis is so hurt and so embarrassed by the fact that he is unloveable even in the eyes of the people who are supposed to always love him, he knows deep down that Harry does not and will not see it that way. “Well, uh, my parents were sitting on the couch today when I got home. They had heard about the article and, uh, what happened. Obviously. They told me that had signed me up to go away to some group therapy session. They told me I could go to that, and stop seeing you, and ask for forgiveness and eventually the lies would clear themselves up.” Louis lets out an angry laugh, his disbelief at his parents only growing as he repeats their words back to Harry. 

Harry is rubbing soothing circles into his back, not interrupting, just listening. Aside from a sharp intake of breath now and again.

Louis takes a deep breath, powers up to continue. “And I… I just couldn’t keep my loud mouth shut… I was like, well, maybe their not lies, maybe I’m actually just gay. And then, they… they kicked me out.” 

“The kicked you out?” Harry asks. 

A shiver ghosts down Louis’s spine. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Harry so angry.

“Um, yeah.”

“Like, for tonight, or?”

“No, for good. And they, uh, kind of told me not to come back unless I was ready to… to be normal.” Even though Louis’s words are broken, shattered by the emotion in his voice, Louis knows that Harry gets it, that he understands.

Harry’s arms constrict around him. He is hold Louis so closely that there is not a centimeter of space between them. Louis wishes he could be closer to Harry. “Oh, Lou. I’m so so sorry. I knew they would probably be mad, but I never expected this to happen. I’m so sorry. You can stay with us for the rest of the year. For as long as you need. Anything. I’ll do anything you need me to. It’s the least I can do…” 

Louis’s heart cracks, strains under the weight of all the love he feels for Harry in this moment. Harry cares about him so much, so much more than Louis deserves, even on his best days. He knows that, that no matter how much Harry cares, how much Harry wants to, he can’t fix the problem. And Louis wishes Harry wasn’t intent on taking the blame. No one ruined Louis’s life except Louis himself. Harry least of all.

But, he doesn’t say any of this to Harry because he is just so tired. “Can we just sleep?” He asks, quietly, quietly. 

“Of course, love.” Harry says. He shifts them down, heads on one pillow, covers pulled up over their shoulders. 

Harry slots himself up with Louis, legs tangling together, back to chest, fingers twined, head tucked under chin.

It’s been a little while. Louis is just beginning to drift off to sleep when Harry whispers in his ear, breath soft and warm and sweet against his cheek. “Louis, I love you,” is what he says.

Louis’s heart beat speeds up, but he is frozen.

He doesn’t know why, but he pretends to already be asleep. He pretends that he doesn’t hear. 

✝

Louis wakes up that morning to the slam of the door and a white blaring light that sears through his eyelids. 

“Oh, holy hell.”

Louis thinks it’s Gemma whisper shrieking, but he’s too groggy to open his eyes and check.

“Gemma, go away.” Comes Harry’s mumbled reply from behind Louis. His deep voice rumbles through Louis’s body.

“You guys are lucky mom sent me to come wake you up instead of doing it herself. Are you both crazy?” Gemma continues as though Harry hadn’t even spoken.

Louis ignores her. He’s trying to sleep. Still isn’t finished reveling in the warmth that is Harry. Still isn’t finished reveling in the fact that he gets to wake up next to this beautiful, wonderful person. 

“I thank you kindly, Gemma. Now can you please go away?” Harry asks, his arms tightening around Louis.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you guys are still together and all, but this is ridiculous. You guys can’t just expect…”

“Gems,” Louis cuts her off. Takes a deep, rattling breath. Preparation. He sits up, pulling out of Harry’s arms. Harry whines, low in his throat, but doesn’t try to prevent Louis from doing this. Merely settles for keeping a steadying hand on the small of his back, warm underneath the sweatshirt. 

“Gemma,” Louis begins. “My parents kicked me out. I didn’t know where else to go and Harry just happened to be the one that opened the door. It wasn’t like we were just…”

It takes a moment for it to all register with Gemma. For her to fully understand the implication of Louis’s words. But, as she finally does, he can see all her emotions play out on her face. Sadness. Disbelief. Compassion. Pity. And, that last one kind of sucks. Louis kind of wishes he wasn’t in the position that warranted his best friend’s pity. A position that warranted anyone’s pity.

“Oh God, Lou. I’m sure Harry’s told you already, but you’re more than welcome to stay here. I know Mom is going to say the same. She’ll want you to stay for as long as you need. Though I doubt she’ll let you stay in here…” 

“Well, obviously,” Harry says, sitting up now behind Louis and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Louis leans back against Harry’s chest. It’s almost unconscious at this point, how he’s magnetized to Harry.

“Alright, I’m leaving now. You guys are gross.” Gemma says.

Harry laughs and Louis smiles, the fond look in Gemma’s eyes assuring him that she’s only kidding. That she is so happy for them. Even though Louis’s situation sucks, he sure has a lot of people who love him.

“Thanks you guys,” Louis says before Gemma goes. “I don’t know where in the world I’d be without you.” 

And, Louis means it with all of his heart.

✝

Louis manages to sneak out of Harry’s bedroom undetected and breakfast that morning is surprisingly pleasant.

“Hi, Lou. When did you get here?” Anne asks as soon as she walks into the kitchen and takes in the sight of Harry, Gemma, and Louis eating cereal together at the kitchen table.

“He, uh, slept in the basement last night, Mom.” Gemma says. Louis is impressed with how quickly she is able to come up with a cover story on the spot and is glad he isn’t left up to the task himself. It’s probably all those nights sneaking out with Liam. “After the, uh… his parents, uh, well… Lou, do you want to tell her?”

“Louis, honey. What is it?” Anne asks, genuine concern sweeping her features.

“My parents, they, uh, they kicked me out.” Louis stutters.

“Oh my God. Why would they do that?”

Louis takes a deep breath. He knows that Anne would never kick him out of her house, never in a million years. She would never act as his parents had. After all, she doesn’t seem to be treating Harry any differently and she has to know. She has to have heard about the article, read the article. Everyone in town has. It’s just really hard to casually state the secret has has been keeping from everyone, keeping from himself, for the past seventeen years of his life. 

But, “I-I told them that I didn’t want therapy, didn’t need therapy. That I am gay and that’s all there is to it.” Louis says.

“And then they kicked you out? For good?” Anne asks, incredulity coloring her tone blue.

Louis nods solemnly.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She says, coming up behind his chair and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, hugging him to her. “I want you to know that I’m so so proud of you. And, also, I want you to stay here, with us. You’re more than welcome. For as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Louis whispers, cheeks burning, looking down at his lap. It’s difficult to accept help like this. But, he doesn’t have any other choice and he isn’t stupid enough to not recognize that. All he can do is thank his lucky stars that he actually has people in his life who care about him. 

Across the table, Harry stretches out his long legs, easily reaching over to Louis and hooking their ankles together. Gemma reaches over and squeezes his hand in her own.

And, somehow, even though the weight of everything that happened the night before is finally starting to settle down in his lungs and suffocate him, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

_Maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright._

✝

_**September 2007** _

_Harry couldn’t remember the day that he met Louis. Just that he had always been there, always been a constant in his life._

_But, Harry could remember the day he fell in love with Louis._

_Of course, Louis had always mesmerized him. But, knowing he was in love with him was quite different, a new revelation._

_It was a Thursday, after school. They were young. Louis nine, Harry seven. Louis and his younger sister, Lottie, would always ride the bus home with Harry and Gemma. Louis’s mom had to work long hours. It was before John came into the picture._

_They had settled in the basement. The television was on, Spongebob playing in the background. Louis was the only one really watching it, laying upside down on the couch, sock feet up on the wall, head dangling off the edge of the seat._

_Harry was only half paying attention to Louis and the way his golden hair looked taken by gravity, hanging down away from his forehead. No, Harry was mostly paying attention to Gemma and Lottie. Gemma was painting Lottie’s nails. A sort of purple color that was really pretty. Harry was mesmerized, couldn’t stop watching the rhythmic motion of Gemma’s hand, the back and forth movement of the brush._

_He remembered, then, how much he wanted Gemma to paint his nails. How much he wanted his nails to look as pretty, as shiny and colorful as Lottie’s. Harry felt jealousy._

_“Gemma,” Harry began. “Once you’re done, can you paint my nails, too?”_

_Gemma stopped what she was doing, so she could look at Harry quizzically, head cocked to the side. “You want your nails painted?”_

_Harry just nodded._

_“Louis,” Lottie chimed in. “You’re silly. Boys can’t paint their nails.”_

_Her words made Harry’s cheeks flame, embarrassed. “But… but, why not?” He stuttered, biting his bottom lip and trying his very hardest not to cry._

_This was when Harry saw Louis sit up from the corner of his eye._

_“Because they just can’t.” Lottie stated, little girl voice matter-of-fact. “Painting your nails is for girls.”_

_“Lottie, who told you that?” Louis asked, voice sharp and cutting._

_Harry looked at him with wide eyes. He had never before heard him speak to his sister with anything other than complete kindness._

_“No… no one.” Lottie said, eyes as wide as Harry’s, as blue and disarming as Louis’s._

_“Well, it’s wrong.” Louis told her. “Harry can have his nails painted if he wants. Those rules aren’t real.”_

_Lottie’s eyes were still wide. She just nodded her head at her brother, solemn. “I’m sorry, Harry.” Lottie said._

_“That… that’s ok.” Harry said, eyes still trained on Louis._

_Louis smiled at him. “Purple would look good on you, Haz.”_

_Harry couldn’t even remember why he had been sad only a moment before. Louis was sunshine and all consuming. Harry beamed and beamed. Louis’s attention was the absolute best gift._

_“What about me?” Louis asked, grinning at Harry. “You think purple would look good on me?” He held up his hand to his face, giving Harry a means of comparison._

_Harry giggled. “Yeah, purple’s good.”_

_“Purple it is, then.” Louis declared. “Do me too Gemma?”_

_She smiled at Louis, thanking him. “Of course.”_

_Once their nails were painted and all four of them were holding their hands in the air, trying not to smudge anything, letting the paint dry, Harry looked over at Louis again. Their matching purple nails made him smile._

_At that moment, Harry knew what love felt like. It felt like Louis had hung the stars and all Harry wanted to do was bask in their shine, study their twinkle. Harry loved Louis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: thelarryaesthetic


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